


Rupture

by vr2312



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Machi-centric, Multi, Other, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, possible future relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vr2312/pseuds/vr2312
Summary: “I want you to give her a chance. You are a bodyguard not a thief. Even if you can collect intel, it does not compare to her ability or experience. I do not ask that you completely abandon your moral values or vengeance - I ask that you set it aside so both of you can be of benefit to each other.”Kurapika looks up at her. There is little anger remaining in his eyes but it runs under his skin and it boils his blood. His face holds both childish innocence and elder bitterness; if the woman knew him better, if she personally cared a little for that boy, she could almost feel sorry for him.“Does she know? Did you tell her who is going to be her employer?”“No--”“Tell her. I need to see her. I need her to know I have questions.”
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read:  
> 1\. The tags and warnings for this work may change as the story is hardly finished and continues to undergo revisions due to which even some major elements can be rewritten (I do try to keep those changes to a minimum and introduce them while the work is in progress).  
> 2\. I am still considering whether to post shorter but more consistent chapters or to write a single long update at my own pace; I am also deciding whether to try and write a story with action and major plot or if I should mainly focus on the drama between characters and their relationships - in both situations feedback would be very welcome.  
> 3\. Despite the "Machi-centric" tag I would like to try and develop most of the mentioned characters. She is my favourite character so I will not try to hide the fact that the story will mostly revolve around her. However, others are very important to me as well and I do have some ideas for them.
> 
> Lastly, English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes in advance and I will try to reguraly fix any errors that may exist in the story.  
> Do not hesitate to offer criticism about my work.

She sees red when she wakes up: it is immaterial, has no real place in the world but it completely overtakes her senses as it floods her vision, the pressure in her chest making it harder for her to breathe. Her wounds pulsate painfully, but she’s oblivious to a pair of old hands taking care of her injuries. She cries out and her own voice sounds so foreign she’s instantly startled, looking around the room, cautious that something may jump out and hurt her again. 

Through her red, blurry vision she tries her hardest to remember what has happened to her to impair her this much, but the images flashing before her make no sense yet, only confusing her further, making her want to push to a side and curl in the corner of the bed.

She is not restrained in any way but her efforts to move are fruitless; unaccustomed to the lack of control she begins to panic and it is not until a thick, sharp needle pierces her arm that she can calm down again. However, it is only her body that relaxes and gives in to the older woman tending to her; her mind is racing, unable to find something to focus, something to latch onto so she can make sense of what is happening to her.

The red is as cold as it is burning hot, dark and saturated, like a seperate life form, as if its existence did not rely on her will. She thinks if it is not a nightmare, then it must be a curse. All the while her own veins feel empty and her heart seems to still, the blood forms before her eyes and she is ready to believe that her own soul is leaving her body.

Is this what death feels like?

She used to think she had been prepared for that, but now she cannot help but experience a strange sense of longing for things that could have been and a great dread at things that will happen once she’s gone. She is not ready, she realises, and if she had the power over her own voice she would be ready to beg for another chance. 

The older woman smiles softly at her distress before she presses two fingers between Machi’s eyes and everything disappears.

*

Kurapika isn’t sure what to think of Killua showing up at his doorstep, drenched in rain from head to toe with a shaking girl, seemingly around his age, clinging to his arm and looking quite miserable with her dark hair messed up from the wind and some strands stuck to her face. 

Speechless he lets them in and offers his bathroom for them to dry themselves and change while he paces around the kitchen, waiting for the tea to be ready, unsure of what he should think of this sudden visitation or how to behave around the kids.

Killua is the first to step out, apologizing for showing up without any announcement but Kurapika can tell he’s hardly sorry; still, he says nothing. He watches his friend casually open the fridge looking for something edible - he finds nothing and wrinkles his nose for a second before quickly turning to Kurapika and grinning from ear to ear, telling him that “it’s fine”, that they can always order something.

“Look, you two can stay over for however long you desire but I would like to know what has brought you here.”

“Oh… yeah. I guess I owe you that much--”

“You don’t owe me anything, we don’t need to talk about it _now,_ ” Kurapika tries to correct himself. It was not his intention to make Killua explain himself when some things were better off left untouched - it is merely concern that he feels that something bad is going on and he would rather be prepared for when the time comes he has to protect his friends. He does not want Killua to open up out of pressure, but if the boy is upset by the questioning then he does not show it, shrugging his arms and walking over to the counter to pick up the mug of tea.

“I may have betrayed my family and now my older brother is after me. So we’re technically in hiding though I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”

“ _What_?”

“I’m just not sure of what to do next, I’m trying to figure out what would be the best place to keep Alluka safe. I don’t mind moving around but I don’t know if that is what she wants.”

Killua sits down by the table, sipping on his drink and watching the raindrops racing on the kitchen window. When Kurapika sits down in front of him Killua’s eyes shift and he fakes a smile as if it were going to reassure the older boy at all.

Kurapika doesn’t focus on his false optimism, his main concern is that Killua is someone he cares about deeply and, by extension, he cares about Alluka - to have lives precious to him threatened once again makes him feel physically ill. He knows Killua can notice the paleness of his skin and the red flakes glimmering softly in his eyes but Kurapika chooses not to admit that this time he isn’t sure he can do anything about the Zoldyck family. His abilities were honed to avenge his clan and take down the Phantom Troupe - it is his weak point. Although not impossible, he would need time to come up with a strategy to keep his friends from being harmed--

“You worry too much, Kurapika. I can handle this,” the boy says it like he’s able to read his mind. Or perhaps Kurapika has simply underestimated how obvious his anxiety is. “I’ve just missed you. And I knew you wouldn’t mind or ask _too many_ questions. If I went to Leorio he’d be pissed and he would probably try and find my brother himself. He’s as admirable as he is stupid.”

Kurapika smiles at that, he doesn’t think he could describe Leorio better so maybe it did make sense for Killua to look for safety at his place. Not that he would throw Killua out if he thought any differently about him or Leorio; he doesn’t need to mention that, seeing Killua lift himself up and walk back into the living room to wait for Alluka to join them.

Kurapika doesn’t believe he will ever not be troubled, no matter how powerful Killua claims to be, but he supposes he can enjoy the lack of solitude while he has a chance. 

*

Machi wonders if the old woman tending her wounds ever takes sadistic pleasure out of her suffering or if she just doesn’t care enough to pretend to be sympathetic like older women are believed to be. It is not the occasional smile or a laugh that disturbs her, it’s more so her own inability to control her body or even use her Nen as she’s immobilised and at mercy of this complete stranger that looks her in the eyes so intensely, as if they knew each other for years; if they did, Machi would remember, she does not forget people. 

She figures the woman must be a Nen user too - she is good at what she does, perhaps even mastered her skills a long time ago, but she cannot assess how powerful she really is. Whenever Machi tries to ask her something, the girl's mouth stays forcibly shut and her frustration can be told only from her arching brows.

“You’re as passionate as ever. At this rate I might let you go early.” For some reason the way the woman says it makes Machi so furious she would have killed her on the spot if she had the ability to, she might consider that once she’s free - **if** she’s ever free. 

The woman rarely talks, and when she does she never makes her intentions clear, making random guesses and unnecessary observations. 

One day, as she unwraps the old bandages and cleans Machi’s wounds, she stills for a second, turns her head towards the girl and speaks softly with an expression of surprise, like she doesn’t expect the words to leave her mouth either. “Your choices… have they made you happy?”

“I don’t understand…” she speaks with a low and broken voice for the first time in a long time. She assumes it must be a test to check how much she has recovered and how much longer must they wait for Machi to be able to take care of herself. Her voice comes from deep within her but it still doesn’t feel like her own - it is either the exhaustion or the woman’s Nen causing that. Machi doesn’t have the strength or the patience to figure out which is the right answer. 

“I don’t think they made you happy. I don't think you ever were happy. It’s a shame, you have a good heart and you wasted it.”

Machi doesn’t know how she manages to lift herself up before she loses her balance and rolls out of the bed onto the floor. Her painful winces mix with the woman’s unsettling chuckle and it causes her to see red again. Her muscles tense and her stomach turns. She blinks quickly, the tears overflowing her eyes before dropping onto the wooden boards. The sound in her ears is high, piercing and pulsating and she feels the same way she did the day she was dying. This time the red doesn’t terrify her as much, she knows it is not a threat in itself but rather the evidence of her suffering, like a memory forcibly trying to make itself known.

*

Leorio gets angry, of course, he screams at Kurapika through his phone and in short pauses between his voice, the boy can hear things being hit and thrown. When Leorio offers to come over and help him track down Illumi and the rest of the Zoldycks, Kurapika looks over to Killua sitting beside his sister, who is attentively watching TV, and gives him a look that tells Killua everything he needs to know. The boy laughs at Leorio’s reaction he predicted so well and digs into his second pizza, his attention shifting to Alluka mentioning something about the show.

Kurapika hangs up eventually, hoping he has reassured Leorio enough about the kids’ safety. But the moment he hides his phone it rings again. He picks up only to hear his older friend continue to throw accusations at him.

“Focus on your studies. I have the situation under control. I just wanted to let you know in case someone needs to replace me. I have a job, you know.”

“THEY SHOULD BE YOUR PRIORITY!” 

Kurapika takes the phone away from his ear, grimacing at the ringing inside his head. He knows Leorio is right, he shares his sentiment. He couldn’t pretend, however, that he doesn’t have other responsibilities, that there aren’t important people willing to help him track down the Kurta eyes in exchange for his services. And, perhaps as a part of that exchange, they could offer their help in keeping Illumi at a safe distance from his younger siblings.

“It’s insulting you’d think they aren’t.” It shuts Leorio up for a while and Kurapika almost forgets they’re still in a call. He stares at the TV screen, watching colourful people jumping around a monster walking towards a city, occasionally hearing sounds of a fight and Alluka’s sighs of wonder. For a short moment he is jealous of how carefree she’s allowed to be; maybe she isn’t even aware of how much danger her and her brother are in - it’s both a blessing and a curse.

Leorio speaks up after he has calmed down, though Kurapika can sense his distress over the phone. “What about Gon?”

“What about Gon?” Kurapika repeats, clueless about how it’s supposed to tie in with the Zoldyck problem.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Killua’s face drop, his eyes still directed at the TV screen but not really looking anymore. He doesn’t even react to Alluka’s hand pulling on his sleeve, asking if he saw whatever it was that a character from the show has done to impress her. His head turns slightly to Kurapika, his ear twitches and he begins to eavesdrop on his friends' conversation again as if he wanted to know the answer too: what _about_ Gon?

“We have to assume he’s safe. He’s back home and Ging probably has his eye on him--”

“You don’t actually want to rely on Ging for Gon’s safety?” Leorio asks, the way Ging’s name rolls off his tongue is almost like a poisonous spit or as if something went bad inside his mouth. Finally Kurapika can understand his friend perfectly, even if he is not going to say that so as not to fuel his rage further. 

“We have to. He should know he wouldn’t be able to hide from us this time.”

The answer satisfies Leorio enough. For the last time he orders Kurapika to keep Killua safe and to let him know if they ever need his help. They likely do but Kurapika refuses to admit that just yet. They have delayed Leorio's pursuit of his own goal for long enough, so he believes that distracting him now would be selfish on his part. Still, he deserved to know the truth.

*

Kurapika takes the couch in the living room and prepares extra covers in his bedroom for Killua and Alluka. He does so not only out of politeness but the couch isn’t big enough to fit them both and Kurapika wouldn’t want to disturb them by walking through the living room during one of his restless nights.

He isn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. He can feel Killua’s aura, sharp and unsteady, shooting out of his body and flying across the room. When he gets up to peek through the gap he left when closing the bedroom door, he is surprised to see Alluka is able to peacefully sleep through that. 

Opening the door slowly, he pushes his head inside, looking around the room and finding Killua sitting by the glass door to the balcony. He faces away from him but the way his body jerks and his shoulders drop gives him away.

Kurapika does not contemplate whether it’s the right thing to do or not; he steps into the room and walks over to Killua. He kneels close to him and looks at his face, wet and red from the tears that wouldn’t stop rushing down his cheeks - it reminds him of the rain outside but instead of the refreshing chill, Killua’s tears radiate an unpleasant heat of his boiling emotions. They’re too dark and too heavy for his age. 

Killua stops biting down on his arm to conceal his cry and instead pushes his face into Kurapika’s shoulder when he is pulled into a hug. He drives his fingers into his back, unknowingly hurting him in the process but Kurapika doesn’t mention that; he uses his own hand to brush through Killua’s messy hair, uncertain that it will even offer him some comfort - Kurapika has never considered himself good at these things but he doesn’t possess enough composure to let his friends deal with sadness on their own. It is hypocritical of him to isolate himself at his lowest but never allowing others to be alone in their misery; he knows this flaw well and still he would choose not to do anything about it. Perhaps his awareness of how scary loneliness is when you’re lost and overtaken by grief is why he refuses to let others feel the same. 

He likes to think that’s the case when Killua thanks him quietly before he continues to cry about the life he could have had, the life that was taken from him too early.

*

“Have you ever imagined how you are going to die?”

Machi looks up from Pakunoda’s wound and tilts her head. She touches the woman’s forehead but there are no signs of fever and Pakunoda’s eyes are as conscious as one’s could be when they’re suffering from blood loss after being shot. Before Machi can make any smart comment, Pakunoda resumes, fixing herself in her seat so that the girl has a better access to the injury - Machi begins to sew the muscles and nerves back together again, slowly, able to listen and work at the same time. “Perhaps I haven’t looked into enough memories, or I haven’t looked well enough. But from what I’ve seen there are two kinds of people - those who imagine their death at some point and those who believe they will never die.”

“Why are we talking about this now? You imagined yourself dying to a mere bullet?” asks Machi, raising her brow. There’s a smirk on her face but she sounds hardly amused, clearly trying to mask her own newly formed insecurity about Pakunoda’s abilities. 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“You could just see for yourself.”

Pakunoda’s shoulders drop but as they do she hisses in pain from Machi’s needle hitting a nerve where it shouldn’t. “Stop moving.”

“Will you tell me?”

Machi works without a sound, even her breath seems still and Pakunoda has been vocal before about how unnerving she finds the young girl’s behaviour; her friend’s skill to act this mechanical is surely something to be desired in their line of work but she fears to imagine the mental consequences such attitude could bear. However, no matter their age difference, she is not in a position to act like her mother or a sister - they were their own women. Pakunoda could just support her through her less than wise decisions, she knew Machi would do the same.

“No, I’ve never imagined it. I know I will die. Everyone here dies eventually.”

Somehow Machi’s words do not surprise her. It’s a calculated answer, like everything she ever says, but it’s not untrue. She’s too young to worry about death but not immature enough to be sure of her own immortality. Pakunoda doesn’t mention it but out of everyone she knows, she believes Machi’s sense of survival to be the strongest; she also knows, from her own experience, that excessive caution can be damaging in many ways: ways that aren’t obvious, ways that patiently set you up for a failure. She hopes Machi is smart enough to realise that before it’s too late.

“Actually, I would like to die by a bullet.”

“Why?” Machi’s tone lacks judgement. She doesn’t even look at her; she continues to sew with care, using the thinnest threads, making as many links as possible and, should she be successful, she will not leave a scar. Pakunoda thinks it’s a shame - memories are not visible to others as they are to her but a scar could tell you a story better than someone’s words. 

“Long and tedious suffering seems so overdone. I’d much rather have it done quick. And I’d like to die for _something_. If my death is meaningless I might just come back from the dead.”

Machi smiles at that and taps her wound with a disinfectant-soaked rag at which Pakunoda cries a little - without her Nen in that area it may not hurt but the stinging manages to annoy her. 

“You want the poetic death without the pain?”

“I guess. But maybe I’m being too much of a perfectionist about it.”

Machi stands up and helps Pakunoda lift herself off the chair. She hands her a fresh shirt and buttons it for her, only to have the woman undo the last few buttons as she always does. Machi cannot imagine how uncomfortable it must feel: during work _and_ socialisation.

Pakunoda brushes through Machi’s short hair fondly and lets out a gentle chuckle when the girl quickly escapes from her touch. It is a self-defense mechanism and a false aversion to affection, even though Pakunoda is sure those two are related. She knows well how soft Machi is on the inside, sharp and cold as glass but ultimately quite fragile. It is their secret, however, one she would never share. 

"I've promised I'd introduce you to someone, haven't I?" 

Machi nods and, before she notices, Pakunoda grabs her hand and drags her outside the apartments towards the center of the Meteor City. 

*

The old woman smiles at Machi when the girl’s eyes fall onto her from the entrance to the living room; she holds a gaze that is confused but non-threatening, like a doe during winter. Her pale skin looks even more sickly in the gray light which struggles through the clouds and she's swaying to the sides before she figures out she can hold onto the door frame for support. 

"Grandma?" 

"That's what they call me, I'm glad you remembered."

The woman points at the chair by the dining table with a wooden spoon and waits for Machi to sit down before resuming to stir something in the pan.

Machi can smell the eggs and bacon as she looks over her shoulder, much under the influence of her tight and loud stomach. It's been some time since she's experienced hunger and, were it her choice, she wouldn't have eaten at all, feeling ill at the sight of any food. Her body has needs though and she must accept them if she wishes to recover. 

Grandma puts the plate of food in front of her and a cup of tea on the side. With her own drink she sits down by the edge of the table on her left and attentively watches Machi play with her food before deciding to taste a small bit of scrambled eggs that proves to be too much for her to swallow. 

"It took you a while to come to your senses. I was losing hope you would ever recover. I'm surprised though, why now?" 

Machi chews slowly, covering her mouth and glancing at the TV screen flashing in the other room. She can hear a faint, female voice but it is not loud enough for her to understand the news anchor clearly. Judging by the images on the screen, the news today is hardly important - mostly politics and announcements of public events: nothing she ever cared about.

"I don't know. I don't even know why I'm here."

"You're here because you were injured." 

"Oh, I know _this_ much," she sounds annoyed when she responds, dropping the cutlery onto the plate and causing a ringing sound to spread inside the room. The older woman doesn't seem to mind; she takes a sip of tea, that smells suspiciously like something else, something _stronger_ , and sighs looking out of the window, making a throwaway comment about the weather. 

"Grandma, please. You need to tell me why I'm here." 

"I told you already, you were injured." 

"Grandma--" 

"You were brought here. You were bleeding out, many of your bones were seriously broken, you were delirious when you weren't passed out..." 

"Who brought me here?" 

"A man - gentle and very polite. He paid me a lot of money to take care of you. And not to mention his name. That's all I can say." 

"Do I know him?" 

"I have no idea."

Machi's fork stabs her breakfast continuously as she bites on the inside of her cheek, trying to process all of the new information she's just learned. 

She cannot come up with any options for her _saviour's_ identity; she knows no people with traits that were mentioned and she suspects it couldn't have been any of the Spiders, surely they would have left her some kind of message.

Now not only does she worry about the events that led to her infirmity, but the mysterious identity of the man that rescued her and a reason for her atypical case of amnesia. And the Spiders… how much time has passed since she last saw them?

Machi looks around the room but finds no sign of a calendar or even a clock. She watches TV again but if any date is displayed, it’s too little for her to see. She casually asks Grandma at some point, but the woman just shrugs and smiles; as Machi suspected, there was no getting answers out of her.

“You know,” Grandma starts, her mouth arched upward so much it would appear to anyone else she was inhuman; in fact Machi still believes so ever since Pakunoda suggested that after they had left the woman’s house the first time they had visited. “I do value my customers but you and Paku were my favourites.”

“It means nothing to me if you are not willing to help me.” Machi pushes the plate away and stands up. She doesn’t move for a second, regaining her balance, the room spinning around her - it is red again, strong red that faints and comes back every few seconds. Is it one of Grandma’s tricks? It makes Machi tired and heavy, she wants nothing more but to go back to her bed and hide under the covers, hoping that when she shows her head after a while the world will return to normal. Or rather, as normal as it could be for someone like her.

“I can get you a job Machi, like old times. Provided you’re healed and you can use your Nen - that was the only condition.”

“What of my memory?”

“It seems you are gaining it back. You have suffered such a great trauma… It shouldn’t be surprising.”

Machi turns around and leaves the woman to her tea. She doesn’t care for the unfinished breakfast or her protesting stomach. She locks the door behind her and simply drops down to the floor, relieved to give her body some rest. The bed is only a few steps away but the coldness and hardness of the wooden boards is more comforting at the moment. She lies down on her side, closes her eyes and begins to move her fingers back and forth between her temples and the forehead. 

She thinks of Pakunoda walking down the streets of the Meteor city, wearing nothing but her dark pants and a snow white shirt covered in her own blood. She looks like an angel would, causing fear in the eyes of bystanders but radiating light that pulls Machi closer. She possesses beauty lethal to men, comforting only to those who truly understand her. Machi doesn’t think she ever truly understood Pakunoda, she cannot figure out why the woman ever kept her around. 

She doesn’t understand why Pakunoda dared to pull that trigger if she cared this much about the Spider. The exorcist would have helped her too, wouldn’t he? 

Why the effort to preserve her memories and to give them up in the first place? 

Machi covers her mouth and waits for the older woman to move to another room before she starts crying into her palm. 

*

Neither of the boys speak of what has happened at night and Alluka doesn't seem to be aware anything should be out of the ordinary. They eat their breakfast in silence occasionally interrupted by Kurapika's phone vibrating at the other end of the room. He never bothers to get up and take it, only glaring in its direction whenever the notification sound goes off. 

"It may be important." 

"It's not." Killua turns in his seat at the answer and looks at the phone, this time sitting calmly on the coffee table, and waits a minute for it to move again. When no new message comes up he concludes that perhaps Kurapika is right and it must not have been actually important, otherwise he doubts someone would have stopped calling him. 

Killua shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth and as he chews he refills his and Alluka's cups with juice. He knows Kurapika is watching him with disgust so when he's done, he swallows the bread and sticks out his tongue before grabbing more food onto his plate. 

"Out of all things your family could have taught you, it's surely not manners."

"Oh, I know manners," Killua says, licking the extra jam off the knife while his friend's heart stops, hoping that the boy doesn't cut himself. "I just don't care about them much." 

"I'm not sure if that's better…" 

Kurapika gets up and collects the dirty dishes, leaving the remaining food behind, knowing Killua would devour it in no time. He exits the dining area glad he won't have to witness it; his stomach has been twisting and turning for a while and the sight of food doesn't make it easier for him not to feel sick. 

The running water muffles the sound of a conversation going on between the siblings and his own heart pounding against his ribcage. He watches the stream disappear in the drain, forgetting the reason why he even has come to the kitchen. Neither does he realise how uneven his breathing is, or Killua's voice calling him, or the loud and obnoxious sounds his phone makes. He grips onto the edge of the sink, so hard his knuckles are white and his palm begins to hurt. There is someone taking steps towards him, pulling onto his sweater, repeating his name only to eventually push him. He cannot react as he doesn't know he should, the world simply doesn't exist during those few minutes of being completely frozen. 

"Kurapika? You're scaring me." 

The sound of the water seems to intensify, deafening Kurapika so much it causes his head to hurt from the pressure in his ears. Although his body is turned towards Killua, his eyes fall onto something farther than the boy or Alluka. He watches the single chair in the living room but when the siblings examine it, it stands empty. Yet something about that piece of furniture is able to drive Kurapika crazy: eyes glowing red, hands shaking by his sides and a drop of sweat forming on his forehead. 

Kurapika can see clearly and he's been seeing the same thing over and over again for quite a while now - a familiar figure but not one he knew personally. At the same time he feels like watching a movie and like a voyeur stuck in someone's head. He knows the girl with wild pink hair is not actually there, he's never mistaken enough to take her for a real person. Despite that, the hallucination of her is so intense he is too afraid to come closer. 

Today she is speaking for the first time. Whatever she says, it's too incomprehensible to Kurapika. It's both their distance and the girl's own concern over the words she says that makes it difficult for him to understand her; it is only a one sentence or a phrase that he can catch, if he has not imagined it completely. 

"...everyone here dies eventually."

He shivers. He loses his balance. He almost cries when his vision captures Killua's face again. He sits down in the kitchen corner and drops his head in shame. 

"What the hell did just happen to you?"

He doesn't know. It's neither a panic attack nor sleepwalking. He isn't sure if what he's seeing is prophetic in nature or a vision of things that had happened. It's a condition that doesn't have a name and feels too personal to exist among other people - and so he has never bothered to search for an answer. Besides that, he has neither time nor will, nor idea where to even begin to look. 

"I got dizzy. I think I'm OK now." 

Killua brings him a glass of water and sits down next to him. There is nothing more he says or does but he looks at Kurapika with a gaze that is older than the boy himself - Killua may not understand his friend's condition but he understands what loneliness can do to you. So he chooses to remain, as long as necessary. 

*

Machi knows she's a horrible sight to behold. She doesn't need Grandma to tell her that, shaking her head in the bathroom doorway like she's scolding a child. She doesn't want Grandma to tell her that, she doesn't want her presence. She moans at the woman to leave but Grandma ignores her, dropping off the groceries in the kitchen only to come back to take a look at the disaster that was made of her toilet. When she complains about the smell of the vomit and sweat, Machi has already turned off her thoughts. She presses her forehead against the cold bathtub, anticipating it will bring some relief to her burning body. 

It's burning red. Hot red, dark red, blinding red. She has to close her eyes, unable to stand seeing the red her hands are drenched in. _Like everything else_. The red never seems to go out, it only gets stronger. 

"Machi." 

She cries, she doesn't even notice when that happens; if it were up to her, she would have rather had her eyes gouged out.

She isn't sure why she's crying; perhaps it is the physical tiredness she feels or the hopelessness of the situation she has found herself in. It could simply be her heart, letting go of all the emotions it had held captive throughout the years.

"Little Machi…" 

Grandma kneels beside her with a wet towel to clean the girl's face but Machi crawls away, barely able to pull herself up using the tub and the shower handles. 

"Stop being ridiculous." 

In a second it stings, a needle in her eye, forcing her to look straight at what lies before her: her own body painted red. 

"What happened to me?" she asks, but it sounds more like a wail. Maybe that's why Grandma doesn't answer right away, instead trying to pull her down to sit back on the floor. 

"What happened to me?" Machi repeats herself, only this time she spins around and glares right at the woman - full of disappointment and accusation, as if Grandma had anything to do with it. 

"I don't know." 

"What is happening to me?" 

"I _don't_ know. I _can't_ help you if you won't let me." 

Machi doesn't need her help. She doesn't want her help. She wants answers and to disappear completely, to throw herself with all those answers, the thoughts and realisations into a void; where there is no pain, no Spider, no Pakunoda, no _red_. But even then, the hellish colour breaks through, it fills the void with a force like a wave set out to destroy continents. Machi has nothing to hold onto, she is as alone as she is surrounded and oppressed by the weight of the red ocean swallowing her whole. She doesn’t know where up or down is and, even if she did, she doesn’t know if there is a surface to swim to. 

“Machi.” A different voice calls out to her, muffled by the noise the red makes as it crashes against her. Before she can shut off her senses she hits a cold, wet ground. The smell of blood irritates her nose and the tears make it nearly impossible to make out the red shape hanging above her.

“Look at you, Machi. You’re a mess.”

She shivers as the blood pours out of her wounds and as the figure keeps hovering over her like a vulture. Her limbs are too bruised to move and each bone feels like it’s been crushed into dust; yet it is not the pain that bothers her the most, it’s the neverending gaze drilling straight into her, it’s the emptiness of the room and how exposed she is.

It bothers her when he brushes the hair off her face and how much comfort it brings her, like she’s a child starved for affection. She whimpers when he pulls away and disgust turns her stomach - she’d never felt more pathetic than in that moment. And she is too weak to put on a mask and act like she isn’t completely helpless.

“Machi!” A sharp slap is what finally makes her wake up and realise she is still on the bathroom floor. She still sees red, even if it isn’t as strong as before, but this time she is able to stand up with Grandma’s help.

The woman leaves the room as soon as she can to continue unpacking the groceries. She doesn’t speak up until after a while and, even though, neither her nor Machi look at each other, by the way she talks one can guess she is more confused and annoyed than terrified after the incident. “I’m going to give you a week. Pull yourself together, let me find you a job and, if you finish it, then I’ll accept you’re still right in the head. Otherwise we will need to get you help, at this point I’m inclined to believe you’re possessed.”

Possession seems like the only rightful diagnosis, Machi has no longer any strength or patience left to figure out what was going on inside her head. She refuses to believe it was simply a concussion or trauma that has caused this - she's been injured many times, _never like this_. 

"Whatever…" she whispers. She fixes a loose strand of her hair but the touch she experiences isn't hers. There's an alien breath above her shoulder as she retreats to the bedroom; sometimes she can hear a voice but this time she cannot tell who is trying to address her. 

There is nothing she can do in a week that she hasn't tried before. Her last hope is to pretend she is alright, that she's in control; she has to pretend she isn't possessed until she believes it herself.

*

Kurapika leaves a short note that just says he went out for a jog: it doesn’t say when he left or when he intends on coming back, his phone doesn’t have a signal and there’s no way to tell if the battery has died or if he turned it off on purpose. 

Killua chooses not to worry too much, his friend has promised to watch a movie with them later this evening and he’s the one to always keep his promise. Now when the boy opens the fridge it is full, there’s too few foods that Killua actually enjoys but, until Kurapika is back and makes everyone dinner, he has to satisfy himself with a frozen meal. He offers half to Alluka before putting it into the microwave but she shakes her head, looking away with a strange look on her face. It is different from the detached expression she sometimes has, aloof and relaxed, when she’s lost in her own thoughts that she rarely mentions out loud.

“What is it?”

“You’re not with Gon because of me.”

He does not expect her to give him an actual answer, much less to mention Gon of all people. He’s still not used to not having him running by his side and he doesn’t believe he will ever be able to move on. But, in the end, it is nobody’s fault. It would be easier to find someone to blame and to think that once all is done things would just come back to normal. They did, in a way it all turned out the way they wanted. If anyone is at fault, Killua believes it to be himself; the consequences of the choices he’s made all came crashing down on him at a single point. There were things he wishes he had said but he cannot be sure they would change anything or if they only came to his mind after reflecting on his past actions. 

He hopes that one day Gon can take him back. But right now he has Alluka to take care of and it pains him to see her trying to take the blame for something independent of her. 

“I am not with Gon because we have other important things to do.”

“But you would rather he were with us right now.”

“It doesn’t matter. What I want is for Gon to be at peace with himself. And for you to be save.”

“And Kurapika? Do you think he wants me here?”

“I think he’s happy enough not to be alone anymore.”

She’s unconvinced but she says nothing more. She still refuses to eat anything and sluggishly finds a spot on a couch to rest, looking from her face in the blank TV screen to the raindrops outside.

It was never Killua’s intention to neglect his sister’s feelings, it is why he decided on rescuing her in the first place: it was a mission out of regard and love for her. But perhaps he’s underestimated her frustrations or he never looked hard enough. He’s not grown into his role as the older brother yet and he cannot say he has anyone right to imitate. And he’s never been great with understanding girls either, no matter how he tries; one day when Alluka needs such companionship, who will provide that?

Killua opens the microwave and pulls out the meal, ripping the plastic cover with more force that is necessary. The curry isn’t nearly as good as something Kurapika would make but his nerves make it hard for him to notice the taste. He bitterly realises that despite how many things have come up, he still cannot figure out a plan.

*

The cold wind coming from the coastline hurts Kurapika’s ears and nose until he escapes from the park and manages to find some protection in an alley behind a row of old brick buildings. His jacket protects him from the drizzle but it provides little warmth in comparison to his moving body. He is not foolish enough to exercise during such deceitful weather and he would rather stay at home with Killua and Alluka anyway.

He would have stayed if he hadn’t made a promise in advance to show up.

He turns right after passing the fifth apartment block and runs towards the coastline while observing the numbers on the side of the buildings. Right before reaching the main street he turns left and ends up in an alley again; this time he slows down and fixes the hood over his face to hide from the people he walks past. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a small apartment complex, seemingly closed down, but the front gate is open and so he walks up to the main entrance and looks inside, only to find a dark corridor and a reception desk. There’s an aura coming from the building, faint enough that one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking for it. For Kurapika it’s a sign he has come to the right place; so he pushes the door and walks inside. He pushes his wet hair away from his face and unzips the jacket so he can move around freely. Slowly he walks up to the elevator and, ignoring the “out of order” notice, he pushes a button. 

For a while nothing happens, the light doesn’t turn on and the machinery doesn’t sound like it’s moving. The boy begins to pace back and forth, glancing in every direction and around every corner, he isn’t sure what is supposed to come next. He considered the possibility of an ambush but doesn’t fear it, he has prepared for such a situation.

After a couple more minutes an emergency door opens and he is greeted by a woman: despite her age she is good looking, her gray hair is pulled into a neat bun and her dark uniform accentuates her slim and tall figure.

“Who are you?” he asks, although it is difficult for him to believe the woman to be the same person he had been talking to for quite some time.

She extends her hand and, after she introduces herself, Kurapika reciprocates the gesture. “Call me Grandma, my actual name is of no importance. You’re Kurapika, aren’t you?”

“How do you--”

“I like to know people I work with. Don’t worry though, I have contacts with different people in the underworld, I don’t take sides. You are safe here.”

“But I’m not really from the underworld, am I?”

She smiles at him, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepen. It makes her more approachable and, perhaps if it weren’t for the circumstances under which they were meeting, Kurapika would be able to grow fond of her.

“Of course not. In fact, you are rather famous for an outsider. But I think I will like you and that you will be a good client.” 

She motions at him to follow her and they walk over to an open room with a couple of couches in the middle and dead plants in a corner. The room is a bit haunting but clean save for some dust on the shelves. It’s obvious no one has stepped inside for a while but it was hard to say it was completely abandoned.

“Is the whole building in use,” he asks.

“No, there are some offices downstairs but I’m staying out of town.”

“Offices?”

“There’s business taking place that you shouldn’t worry about.”

They sit down on the sofas opposite of each other, separated by a glass coffee table and a withered plant. 

“When I said you are safe here - I meant that. I have sensitive information and I value secrecy. Would you relax now?”

Kurapika doesn’t even notice how tense his body is until she mentions that. But no matter how he tries, his muscles feel firm and his hand clenches ready to attack. His eyes follow hers, trying to discern her intentions but the woman’s face is as beautiful and detailed as it is blank. He’s worked with the mafia long enough to realise that she was dangerous, no matter how she tried to present herself to him. She is not his friend nor his business partner - at least not yet. She is here for an “exchange of service”. 

“Machi Komacine - does this name tell you anything?”

He takes a breath but doesn’t answer. She expected as much.

Grandma reaches for her phone and, after scrolling a few times, she pushes it towards him. 

He looks somber, his bangs fall over his eyes covering his face but it’s not enough to hide his quivering lip. The woman could use her Nen to look into his head, but chooses not to use any of her tricks and potentially sabotage their deal. And it’s fun, finding out things on her own...

“Do you know her?” she asks and leans forward to get a better look at his expression but he lowers his head. “I suppose the rumours were true then… You’re not fond of the Phantom Troupe.”

With one click the screen goes dark and the picture of Machi disappears unlike Kurapika’s pained look.

“Then why are you showing me this?” Too many reds swirl in his eyes for the woman to count and it is both mesmerizing and terrifying. She does not fear for her own life for she knows his issues are not the result of any of her actions. Something else has caused this and she’s tempted to break into his head. 

“I want you to give her a chance. You are a bodyguard not a thief. Even if you can collect intel, it does not compare to her ability or experience. I do not ask that you completely abandon your moral values or vengeance - I ask that you set it aside so both of you can be of benefit to each other.”

Kurapika looks up at her. There is little anger remaining in his eyes but it runs under his skin and it boils his blood. His face holds both childish innocence and elder bitterness; if the woman knew him better, if she personally cared a little for that boy, she could almost feel sorry for him.

“Does she know? Did you tell her who is going to be her employer?”

“No--”

“Tell her. I need to see her. I need her to know I have questions.”

His answer is unexpected and for a while Grandma can neither collect her thoughts nor begin to make sense of his answer. All she’s aware of at that moment is that he’s a client and if he’s paying for something, no matter how eccentric she thinks his request is, she should deliver. Ultimately, **she** chose to connect these two people’s paths. And she still thinks it was for the best.

“I hope you are aware that once I tell her, she may choose not to show up.”

“If that happens, just find me someone else…” 

“It will cost extra.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“I wish that were true for all of us.”

She stands up and checks her phone again. She looks at the screen for a minute before bringing her attention back to Kurapika. “She’s currently recovering from injuries and I have her _sedated_ \--"

"Just let me know when she's available." He doesn't bother questioning why and how the Spider is sedated, he isn't sure he wants to know. He gets up and rushes to the exit. For the short amount of time he has spent here chatting with the woman he has managed to hate this place.

Jogging back to his apartment he pushes the hood to hide the red glow in his eyes. 

*

The weather doesn't change much. The fog outside is sometimes white as snow and other times it resembles smoke. It is consistently thick and Machi can barely see anything outside save for the road running along the apartments and the building on the other side, although faintly. Sometimes, when she tries hard enough, she can notice another figure looking out the window across from her, _another Machi_. Sometimes their eyes meet and Machi walks away out of the sight of her strange reflection. 

She questions Grandma about this once but "it is out of my control" is all she responds with. 

She attempts to watch the TV once, it's the same news on repeat of the screen isn't just a static and she quickly grows tired of it. Unlike Grandma who manages to stare at it mindlessly for hours every time Machi wishes to be alone - she never says it but the woman seems to just know. 

"Let me do the grocery shopping today," Machi says but her proposition is instantly shot down. 

"You can try but I don't see the point. I can handle it myself." 

Out of frustration Machi treats it as a challenge and, once she's dressed up, she walks into the hallway only to not find the exit door. She simply accepts it at first, as if some apartments just didn't have an entrance, she doesn't even consider how the Grandma had been able to leave this cursed place previously. 

"Am I going crazy?" she wants to ask.

She doesn't need to. Grandma soon finds her sitting by the table and watching the paint peel off the walls. 

"No, of course not," she answers reassuringly, only to come back a few hours later to contradict herself. "Maybe you are going crazy, who knows." 

As the days pass, or rather Machi assumes they do despite her doubt if nighttime exists, she begins to question everything Grandma says, even if at first it seems to make sense. 

"Did she put you here to help me or to annoy me?" Machi asks, and Grandma stops watering the empty pots on the windowsill to look her in the eyes. Not that it mattered, Machi could always feel eyes on her whether they belonged to the woman or not. 

"The former. But she hasn't checked in for a while."

"I see." 

"But I'm never here to hurt you. You're the one being mean to yourself." 

"I know." 

Grandma says nothing afterwards and Machi doesn't mind. She hopes the woman chooses to keep to herself until the time is up and Machi finally wakes up.

*

There’s a consistent pain in Kurapika’s chest he would describe as piercing him through. His fingers brush against his skin, searching for a wound that is not there but one he can clearly feel, as if the cold metal still sits in his flesh. He has come to accept it, growing numb to the sensation but never quite able to completely forget about it. He’s sure it’s his punishment for all the things he has done and so he chooses not to search for a redemption - Kurapika considers himself someone whose goal is to endure, not move on. 

After the night he has spoken with Grandma, as he’s lying on the couch in his living room, the pain visits him again alongside a pair of blue eyes hidden under a pink fringe, blue eyes that stare back at him with a soft hint of concern. The girl above him reminds him so much of the Machi he’s seen in the picture that Grandma has shown him, yet so different from the Machi he imagines once they meet again. It is inevitable that it will happen, he figures; his chain imprisoned him as much as it could confine a Spider by forever linking him to the Troupe. 

The Machi before him, younger and delicate, kneels next to him. He turns his head to her and although she looks in his direction, she isn’t looking _at_ him. “You need to be more careful.”

She isn’t talking to him. She is a memory, played back to him like a recording but her presence or her attention do not belong to him. Still, he feels like it’s his fault she was then and there, kneeling in his room and observing whatever she saw with pity. It may be that his anxiety has taken over and began to influence other parts of his brain, even those occupied by this unique condition.

When his phone rings, his body jumps but Machi doesn’t flinch at the sudden movement. She doesn’t change at all when he finally manages to get up and drag himself over to the phone. 

An unknown number.

He shakes and closes his jacket but it helps little against the cold that runs down his spine. He picks up the phone and quietly moves into the kitchen to get himself as far away from the bedroom where Killua and Alluka are resting. Once he gets there it’s too late for him to answer the call but his thumb hovers over the green button right under the number. Perhaps it’s the fact that he can still hear Machi muttering something that makes him hesitate to call back; it’s too distracting with the rest of surroundings being so quiet and he’s annoyed that he can no longer understand what she’s saying at all. Almost as if there is static obscuring her words. 

The phone buzzes disturbingly in his hand and startled he takes a peek, only to see a new message from the unknown number: _sleeping?_

He opens it up and stares at the screen for a while, contemplating whether he should respond back. Is it _her_? Is it someone else, perhaps someone who has called a wrong number?

Before he can make a decision, another message comes, making him even more confused than he’s already been: _call me when you’re awake. i need a favour ^_^’._

Machi seems quiet, no longer talking to herself or shifting in her place. She appears ghostlike, so Kurapika takes the risks and comes up to her after placing the phone in his pocket, promising himself to deal with the strange caller later.

He kneels next to her and extends his arm. As he has suspected, he cannot touch her and he cannot feel her either. His fingers go through her shoulder, leaving her body intact. Machi’s brow furrows but she doesn’t bother even looking in his direction. She lifts herself up and looks away towards the dark corridor leading to the bedroom. 

“What do you see?” he asks; he receives no answer yet he is not surprised for he had no expectations that she would respond to him. 

Slowly he drags himself over to the sofa and drops down on the uncomfortable pillows. Sleeping in the living room has done him no favours but he is used to living in far worse conditions. Most of the time he cannot sleep at all anyway, he hasn’t really been able to do so for some time now.

Kurapika ignores yet another buzz made by his phone and throws his arm over his face to conceal his eyes from the outside light, hoping to pass out eventually so as not to bother anyone with his fatigue.

“How many times am I going to see you get hurt?”

He turns on his side, ignoring Machi’s question that he had no right to answer. He knows she is still hovering above him as he tries to fall asleep but her presence is not dependent on his will. He cannot control her. She is a demon haunting him for all he’s done which he can never undo.

*

The night is bright and restless, neon lights force themselves through the blinds to paint the hotel room in a furious splash of shifting and irritating colours. The outside is noisy and unpleasant, a force that crashes against the windows making the whole building vibrate. Nearby people only amplify the hellish atmosphere and the surroundings that used to be so familiar and safe, now appear as a beast's jaw ready to spit you out but not before it takes and takes, and takes…

Hisoka's glistening skin is burning from the lights as he lies on the hotel bed, back exposed, pushing his face down into a soft pillow, trying to mute the sounds that are splitting his skull into pieces. There was a time when any place like this would be his playground and he would be the threat that put everyone on guard; yet tonight he wishes for a magic trick that could make the whole world disappear. It is not his hatred towards that world which makes him think that, but rather his bitterness towards it - that it no longer serves him any purpose. 

He turns his head around and directs his empty gaze towards the TV screen; its glow seems dull in comparison to the outside lighting. Hisoka observes a young couple copulate on screen, both of them conventionally attractive, pretending like they aren't seen by others, pretending like their act is voluntary and somewhat meaningful. It's quite boring, and Hisoka questions why he even continues to watch when he's been unable to get turned on from such simple things for a while.

He thinks it's not only embarrassing but rather pathetic that he's completely lost his drive unless he puts himself in extreme situations; his ability to get off only works when he is completely giving in to the bloodlust, overtaken by the anticipation of a great pain he could possibly cause. His hunger is not so much for the death itself or the climax in the act of killing: he craves the excitement of finding a quality prey and the challenge of breaking them until there’s nothing left. He wants a prey that will hurt him back, that can hurt him bad and make him abandon his own humanity. 

He is not like the simple-minded and laughable criminals who try to satiate themselves with weak and powerless. Their fear keeps them from living their lives to the fullest as they take the easy kills, hiding from the idea of their own mortality. They are afraid of the existence itself and, to Hisoka, it is the most shameful and wasteful thing you can do. 

He reaches for his phone to check for any new messages but finds nothing of interest. He’s bored. So bored.

_Respond._

He finds himself somewhat missing Heaven’s Arena these days. Were it an option, he would have come back so he could easily sedate himself with blood and chaos until something more ambitious earned his attention. Perhaps he’s made few bad choices, not that he would ever admit that. He doesn’t think he’s ever wrong - things sometimes don’t go according to his plan but that is beyond his influence. He’s made all the right decisions; it’s just that his desires involve more that this world has to offer. 

He walks over to a full-length mirror and observes the droplets falling from his hair onto his naked body. He drags his hands along his chest and up to his neck. He traces a thin, white line across his throat and immediately wishes to throw himself against the mirror just so he doesn’t have to see himself any longer; the shattered glass would mark him in meaningless scars that he would never have to think about, scars that would help him _forget_. 

Hisoka isn’t a sentimental person because he doesn’t _want_ to remember.


	2. Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much shorter chapter and a lot of it is dialogue but it wouldn't fit thematically with what I want to write about next so I had to cut it early. 
> 
> I am wondering whether I'm writing about too many characters at once and if I should just focus on Machi. I do enjoy writing other characters and I don't really have a way to post their stories separately and make sense - then again I don't want the main story to be confusing either.

Killua’s body feels like it rips apart when he lifts himself up and shakes violently, trying to push away rough hands grabbing onto him, driving their sharp nails into his skin. He tries to brush the sensation off before Gon can notice, but while he slowly begins to recover, he can see the dying flames from the campfire flicker in the other boy’s eyes as he observes him.

“Nightmare?”

Killua nods reluctantly, not willing to bother Gon at this hour but unable to lie to him when he’s watched so intensely. He flinches when he feels the boy sit up and shift closer; close enough for Killua to see the worrying wrinkles formed on his face.

“What was it about? Do you want to talk about it?”

Killua wants to scream so hard his throat snaps, every word he knows seems inadequate to describe what he’s experiencing. To call it a grief would be inappropriate, to say he is terrified would be an understatement, admitting he’s longing would be to admit defeat.

“I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“No, don’t be. You don’t have to pretend.”

He looks at Gon and immediately regrets it; his gaze is too pitiful, too sympathetic. It’s more than Killua believes he deserves. He doesn’t need Gon to try and be considerate of his feelings; he needs him to say something foolish he can ridicule him for, he needs him to help him dismiss whatever uncertainty is being planted by his own mind. It is partially what drives him towards Gon: Killua wishes he were able to be brave.

“Is it about your family?”

Killua’s stomach begins to hurt. Something akin to terror closes in on him and he shivers when Gon’s warm hand tries to brush his white hair off his sweaty forehead. He curses under his heavy breath, tears forming in his eyes and irritating his skin. This thing that always happens to him whenever he’s alone, consumed by the revolting memories he keeps on reliving when he’s lost and missing _them_ ; he is finally running out of strength to contain it.

He doesn’t want Gon to see him twisting like a worm under the weight of the heartache. He tries to hold back the tears when they’ve already fell onto his blanket. 

“Are you scared they will come after you?”

Could fear be paralyzing to this extent where you are losing your breath, your brain melts leaving you clueless and questioning, and you physically hurt from the comfort which has been denied to you all your life? If the answer is yes then maybe Killua has been experiencing such kind of fear all his life, smart enough to find ways to mute it until he has found himself in a position to let it all out. 

Gon is someone the boy would never dare to burden with the ugliness of the memories that keep haunting him. Gon is purity among the dirt which Killua thinks his life resembles. 

When Killua shakes his head, Gon presses him again. “Do you love them still? It’s OK if you do. It does not erase what they have done.”

Gon is clarity, he notices, as he opens his teary eyes and looks up at his friend. His presence is hopeful, to receive his attention feels cathartic. 

He does not deserve Gon.

The boy helps Killua lie down and fixes the covers for him before he drops by his side. Gon grabs his hand and squeezes it hard, and when Killua finds the courage to look at him again, Gon is staring at something in the sky with a serious expression which softens as soon as he turns his head and reciprocates his friend’s gaze.

“Whatever you choose to feel, your family has no power over you anymore, Killua. You are free.”

*

Machi takes in the sight of people walking down the streets, breathing in the fresh ocean air and letting the sun gently warm her face. She has never imagined she would grow to miss something this simple and insignificant - a moment of peace. The stay at the cage Grandma has prepared for her made her more exhausted and more restless; she assumes it has never been the woman’s intention so she tries to forget about the subject and prepare for the job she was promised but Grandma’s question still hangs in the air like a stench of something dead. 

“What the hell happened to you when you were in there?”

Truthfully she had hoped that Grandma would know, she was the one who made that world and locked her there “for the sake of her own sanity”. But since the woman doesn’t have an answer, Machi is willing to push her experiences to the back of her head until she’s ready to deal with them. Grandma notes that it will never happen and the girl knows she’s right but, unlike the woman, she fails to see anything wrong with her attitude.

“I was hoping would take that opportunity and reflect on your experiences.”

“Unnecessary. And your world-building has gotten lazy, I was trying not to lose my mind.”

“Machi--”  
“Is there anything else you have to tell me? Besides what I’ve already learned from your doppelganger.”

Grandma picks up a brand new phone from a drawer and slides it across the desk towards Machi; she turns away from the window and picks up the device. 

“He didn’t bring any belongings,” the woman says, fixing her glasses and looking down on a stack of papers she was busy with before Machi has decided to barge into her office the moment she woke up. “Just your barely alive body.”

Machi thinks that maybe _he_ should have left her as she were before she can mentally slap herself to discard such an idea.

She unlocks the phone and finds nothing curious at first: the memory is empty and there are no messages. The only thing that has been saved is a series of numbers in the “contacts” she cannot recognise.

“I put in the number of your _employer_ …” Grandma mentions, and as she finishes the sentence Machi’s brow furrow and she pushes the phone down the pocket of her jeans.

“You must be insane if you think I wish to work for _him_.”

“I’m simply presenting you with an opportunity and it’s up to you if you take it. If you don’t like it then feel free to call your boss and have him pick you up.”

Something about Grandma mentioning Chrollo makes Machi uneasy and she shifts away to figure out if the woman has just tried to mock her with her answer. Machi is aware Grandma has always had mixed feelings about the Phantom Troupe, especially its leader; yet she’s never bothered to argue about Machi’s loyalties, she never cared enough about anything so long her business was not threatened.

Today, however, there is something new and strange about that woman’s tone that Machi cannot yet name. 

“Are you angry?” the girl asks, and Grandma looks up at her bewildered for a while until she realises why it is Machi’s question in the first place.

“I am. I am angry at myself for leaving you alone in there. And that I cannot help you--”

“You’re trying to get me back on my feet, that’s more than enough.”

Grandma smiles, finally, and Machi can sigh with relief. As far as she knows she’s never made the woman upset and she would rather not find out what would happen if she did. 

Machi decides to exit the room so Grandma can work in peace and she finds herself in a spacious living space with an overwhelmingly green and dark wood furniture. Most of it must be antique and her mind immediately begins to process the amount of money that has been put into this room alone. 

“Too much.”

She falls onto a sofa and spreads out comfortably, dragging her hands along the soft material that smells like it’s been recently washed. She remembers something about the furniture pieces being mostly decorative but decides not to worry about damage when she sinks into the cushions, feeling an overwhelming comfort in comparison to what she had to endure in her head.

She could never live like this, it’s all too neat and too rich. She does not necessarily have a taste, as she considers herself incapable of properly judging aesthetic value of most objects, but she doesn’t believe she could ever fit in with the surroundings. 

Even as she rests on the sofa, seeing her reflection in the mirror and how her basic clothes and pink hair clash with the meticulous beauty and organisation of the living room, she realises that this place it’s not somewhere she is meant to be. 

Grandma’s past remark was only a joke but now that Machi actually looks at herself, the woman’s words begin to sting.

Machi gets up and walks away towards the exit, wishing to experience the afternoon sun again. 

*

Kurapika’s fingertips hang over the text message he’s typed on his phone until he hears a couple of laughs and heavy footsteps coming from the stairway. He presses the “send” button and lifts himself up to open the door. Before he reaches it, the door hits against the wall revealing Killua carrying various boxes and Alluka following his every step with a smile and a blush on her face.

“What’s that?”

“Board games,” the girl announces and rushes to the coffee table to make space for the boxes. 

“I thought you two were getting food?”

“Yeah but,” Killua says but stops immediately to take a breath, “no offense, your place is boring--”

“Oh.”

“So we figured we needed something fun to do while you’re brooding.”

“I’m not--”

“Kurapika!” Alluka walks up to him and grabs his hands. Her blue eyes light up as she looks at him sweetly and rocks their locked hands to the sides. “Could we order food today?”

Usually he says “no”; he’s hardly ever hungry and if he must eat he would rather prepare the food himself. He also doubts that having take-outs every day can be healthy, especially for such young people like the Zoldycks. But he can already imagine Killua rolling his eyes and Alluka’s disappointed face, he doesn’t want to be that person. He’s not their parent; he’d even argue that Killua can take better care of himself and his sister. 

So it does make him wonder why they even bother asking him that question, knowing well what his answer is always going to be. Every time the decision-making falls onto him, it makes him uncomfortable. It reminds him that, despite all that has happened, they’re still children. And they chose him to be responsible for their well-being.

It’s ridiculous. And scary. 

“Sure. But I’ve got time until 8 p.m.”

“Can’t a jog wait?” Killua asks, unpacking one of the games and setting it up on the table.

“It’s work related.” That’s not entirely true but Kurapika doesn’t think it’s a lie either. Most importantly, he believes there’s no reason to involve them into his activities should they go wrong; they have more serious issues to worry about.

And, again, they will surely expect him to help them. Kurapika hopes he’s still alive before that time comes.

*

Machi hangs over the bridge, looking down at the dark water slowly swaying to the sides, its movement dependent on where the wind blows. It’s occasionally disturbed by the birds landing on the surface or a child throwing a coin for a bit of luck but, no matter the influence, it comes back to its original form: tranquil blue, uninviting and everlasting. Machi imagines herself taking a step into its depths and becoming one with the water, letting it shield her from the rest of the world, only worrying about the fish that swim about searching for food. 

It’s easy to be a body of water, she realises, a small lake in one of many parks - most people don’t know you exist, the rest doesn’t think about your existence unless they pass you by. They kneel by your shore hoping you hold some godly powers and can absorb them of their misfortune. 

It must be nice to be a body of water, to be worshiped, to be _needed_. 

Machi straightens and walks away, turning her attention towards the shrines erected along the road. She has no coins to leave behind for the spirits that supposedly rest within the moss and the rocks; she suspects that even if she did, she would have moved on without a second thought as she’s never been a spiritual person. 

Perhaps that’s why she has always been pulled towards Chrollo - he has a power that is tangible; she can hear his words and they move her, she can see him and his presence affects her. His beliefs do not matter for he proved himself by creating the Spider.

“Devotion of a starved person is meaningless when you’ve thrown bones at them.”

“Shut up”, she responds but her voice is timid and thaws in the wind. 

“How many bones has he promised you, Machi?”

She stops and begins looking around for a stalker whose face she refuses to imagine for the sake of her declining sanity. He cannot read her mind, she repeats to herself, he cannot control her thoughts. Her paranoia is unjustified, she doubts he even knows where she is.

Maybe he’s even forgotten she’s alive.

Slowly, she starts walking down the stone path again, pushing her hands into the pocket of the hoodie to protect them from cold. The gray clouds have long overtaken the sun and there are no longer any rays to warm her up. She runs towards a tea shop she has just now noticed, old and dark inside, built further away from the main path, and stands under the metal rooftop. She looks up at the trees dancing in the wind and listens to the sounds made by the leaves and chimes hanging right beside her head; she knows the rain is about to fall and doubts it will end any time soon.

She jumps when the door opens and a young woman smiles and motions at her to come inside.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring any money,” Machi says and immediately expects to be asked to leave the property. Of course she could use her Nen and make herself welcome but she doesn’t want to be an asshole today.

“Don’t worry about it. Consider yourself a guest.”

Before Machi can answer, the woman disappears inside but leaves the door open as an invitation. While the girl is still hesitant to take a step, she can hear the stranger screaming at her from a distance, “trust me, you don’t want to stand there during downpour!”

And so Machi gives in and takes a seat inside, right by the window as the woman busies herself behind the counter.

The room is small and so there are few tables: there’s potential to fit in more people if it weren’t for the random clutter lying around but Machi likes it better that way. It feels cozy and pleasant and had she known about this place before, she would have certainly borrowed some money from the Grandma instead of relying on charity. 

Tiny feet tap against the steps coming down from the upper floor and soon there’s a little girl watching Machi cautiously from behind a wall. The girl makes a face that supposedly should threaten Machi but, as it has no effect, she runs back upstairs without any word.

“That’s my daughter - Yuu. She’s a bit of a wild thing, I apologise for her attitude,” says the woman, setting down a tea set in front of Machi. It’s handpainted, she notices, with images of branches and colourful birds she’s never seen. Instinctively she takes one of the empty cups and examines it closely, marvelling at the diligent work of the artist.

“They’re made by my father. He would make many of these and sell them outside. I’m sorry if it’s not much of a story.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. What’s your name?”

“Kyou.”

“Machi.” She doesn’t like to give out her name, she prefers to avoid it if she can. Yet Kyou’s kindness makes her abhor the idea of even using a fake identity. It’s not like the woman posed any danger to her or the Spider, Machi doubts she will even remember her face once she’s gone.

Machi patiently waits for Kyou to fill their cups to thank her and, when the woman sits down, she makes an attempt at a small-talk, “are you closed because of the rain?”

“No, we’re always open. We just don’t have many customers. If any.”

“Why is that?”

“Locals rarely visit and the tourists stick to the city. But we make do, so I can’t complain.”

Machi feels like shit. She almost spits the tea back despite how good it tastes, realising that she’s using this woman’s generosity while her business is failing. She makes a mental note to call Grandma to have her pay for the drinks - she’s got more than enough and Machi can always pay her back. If not today, then at least tomorrow.

“If I may ask, what do you do, Machi?”

Her name sounds soft coming from the woman’s mouth. Soft and warm, like Kyou’s whole presence that seems to fill every corner of the room. Her eyes are big and curious, they remind her of the copper coins people throw into the lake.

They remind her of Pakunoda’s eyes.

“I…,” she hesitates, her mind repeatedly calling her a “thief” like a stuck record. “I sew.”

“Oh? Do you have a shop?”

“No. Freelancing. I’m here for a job, actually.”

“Travelling must be so exciting.”

Is it? Machi never thought of it that way. She is never stuck in one place long enough to sightsee. But she doesn’t consider herself a workaholic either. And so Kyou’s words make her concerned for the days she has spent in between jobs; she has little recollection of them, she realises.

Was she always just wasting away without a purpose?

_“Your choices… have they made you happy?”_

She shakes her head, dazed by the intrusive thoughts, and looks back at the peaceful images of the painted birds.

“Have I said something wrong?” Kyou asks, clearly concerned, but Machi dismisses her with a weak smile.

“Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“If I’m bothering you, I can let you be.”

“No, I’m… I’ve been enjoying talking to you, actually.”

Kyou laughs. She tries to suppress it at first but, immediately after Machi looks at her with much confusion, she bursts with gentle laughter which reveals wrinkles around her eyes and lips. “Well, I should say the same. Most people ask about my husband and then continue to pity me. I forget I’m a person sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah.” Machi doesn’t know. Machi doubts she ever thought of herself as a person.

*

Every second Kurapika spends standing in the middle of Hisoka’s room is too long and the walls appear to be shifting closer, making the whole space feel claustrophobic. It’s dark and hot and his damp clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. His eyes sting from the city lights flickering in the rain which hits hard against the tall windows. 

“Do you need to dry off?” Hisoka lounges in a chair, legs crossed and his head propped by his arm. He hasn’t changed at all since Kurapika has last seen him; he’s wearing the same ridiculous clothes and has the same unsettling smirk. His makeup looks fresh so the boy suspects he’s dressed up just for the occasion, though he isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or treat it with disdain. Not that he’s ever been sure what to think of Hisoka - the mystery the man surrounds himself with not so much bothers but rather annoys him. Kurapika feels like he is wasting time whenever he slips up and entertains the man by giving him attention.

“Just tell me what you want.”

“Well, first of all,” Hisoka says, taking in a deep breath, and squints his eyes to limit his vision just to view Kurapika standing right by the door - ready to exit at any moment. “You haven’t responded for a while.”

“Maybe you should let people know in advance that you’ve changed your number.”

“What if it weren’t me calling? Would you miss a call from someone else?” The answer is “no”; he usually tries to answer his calls as soon as he can. Even when he isn’t expecting anyone to contact him. But things have been hectic; he had panicked thinking that maybe it was Machi. But he is not going to admit that. 

“Hisoka--”

“Hm?”

“I don’t have time for games. Tell me what was so important that you needed to see me.”

“Oh, I don’t need _you_ specifically.” Hisoka taps his fingernails against his chin and looks around the room, trying to remember what exactly he has planned to tell Kurapika. He’s been having too many thoughts lately, too many memories, too many ideas that have been distracting him from staying sober. He hasn’t really put himself together when Kurapika has announced he would arrive shortly; as always he decides to put on an act, knowing the boy was not one to investigate his eccentricities too deeply. “Let’s say I was trying to be a good friend.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Language,” Hisoka clicks his tongue; but the sudden change in Kurapika’s attitude fires up something inside him. It’s the red in his eyes; red like murder. It’s the anger and the heat coming from his Aura that causes Hisoka’s blood to rush through his body. He hasn’t felt like this for a while, he almost wishes he could save those feelings and keep them for later. “If I’m not wrong, then I believe that Kurta eyes should mean something to you.”

Kurapika tilts his head and examines his expression, but as always he is unable to learn anything unless he can press Hisoka for more answers. “Maybe. But what do you mean exactly?”

“There’s someone I’m _interested_ in. He’s holding an engagement party in a month and I happened to get an invitation. I would like you to come with me as my plus one.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“He’s apparently planning to propose to the girl with a pair of Kurta eyes.”

Kurapika takes a step towards Hisoka but stops himself. His hands are shaking. The red in his eyes manifest as if it were coming alive, twisting and turning with different shades. If Hisoka were to describe the colour of hell, he would point at these eyes; they were as terrifying as they were mesmerizing.

The man wishes that there will be an occasion for him to gouge them out and fondle them himself. 

“What… What do you expect me to do there?”

“Steal the eyes, preferably. Cause a bit of chaos. Whether he comes after you or sends his guards does not matter to me - either way he will be isolated and I can have my way with him.”

It sounds like a plan, surprisingly. Hisoka has never struck Kurapika as someone who makes plans but rather prefers to improvise his every step, giving into his whims as he lives.

“But, I do have one more request if you decide to come with me.” Hisoka gets up without making a sound and slowly pushes through the neon lights, almost blending in, towards a cabinet to grab a glass of alcohol. “Do let me know what you’re wearing so we can match.”

He won’t. Kurapika can already imagine how tedious dealing with the man will be that evening, especially with the guards who will certainly pay close attention to them.

Without a goodbye or even a confirmation if he will show up to the party, Kurapika leaves, slamming the door behind him. 

Hisoka is again left alone with his own imagination and the memory of the red in Kurapika’s eyes. 

*

Pakunoda’s heels click against the floor when she pulls them off her feet. She throws herself onto the couch and closes her eyes, pressing an ice-filled bag against her cheek. She can feel Machi’s presence getting closer and soon the girl is hanging over her, examining her face and bloodied clothes, searching for any extra injuries that the woman could be hiding. 

Pakunoda opens her eyes slightly and is immediately welcomed by a scowl that one could assume has been forever imprinted on Machi’s face.

“What?”

“You need to be more careful.”

Pakunoda scoffs and smiles, straightening her back and pressing the ice harder into her bruised skin. It’s not the worst she’s suffered through, she is sure that she’ll live. Just like she is sure there are much worse things awaiting her, though she won’t bother worrying about them just yet - if ever.

“I, uh… I misjudged the situation a little bit.”

“You thought you could take someone on instead of relying on your aim?”

“He was asking for a punch.”

“Were you?”

“Do you ever take a risk, Machi, or are you always going to be scared of everything?”

The girl pulls away and walks away, but Pakunoda can catch a glimpse of her expression which changed to something she’s never seen before and something she cannot quite name. She wishes to apologise immediately but Machi soon returns, with a blank face and an ointment she hands over to the woman. Whatever Machi has felt just now is gone. It worries Pakunoda but she knows better than to question her, possibly extending the distance which has been growing between them further.

“Thank you.”

“How many times am I going to see you get hurt?”

“What?”

“How many more times? I don’t give a shit you want to beat up men. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

There’s heaviness in Pakunoda’s heart that she’s never noticed until now - it drops, allowing her to take a breath deeper than before. She can reach out farther and actually grasp Machi without causing her to flinch or run. The girl kneels, allowing her hand to run through her hair and straighten them a little. Her eyes shy away from Pakunoda and she bites the inside of her cheek; without a doubt she regrets the words that have escaped her mouth - the woman knows that expressing concern for other people is not something Machi does, at least not explicitly. The only reason Pakunoda has ever assumed she somewhat mattered to the girl has been through her threads and the effort put into every seam that has allowed her to still walk this Earth alive. 

It feels good to be cared for, Pakunoda learns. 

*

As Kurapika is searching for the keys, ready to enter his apartment, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his coat. He picks it up, thinking that it must be Hisoka, either having forgotten to inform him about something or wishing to play mind games again; if it is the latter, Kurapika may consider going to the party alone and ignoring the man for the rest of his life.

But the message he’s received is from someone else entirely. His anxiety hits him like a shock wave and his legs are barely able to keep him up. 

_“send me the job details. do not contact me under any other circumstance_

_\- Machi”_


	3. Tumult

Before Machi leaves Kyou's tea shop, the woman lets her know about a family outside the park who rents out small guest-houses that they built on their property - there are few people who actually stay there, especially outside of the tourist season, so if she's looking for peace and privacy she should be mostly undisturbed there. 

Machi thanks her and promises to be back before she leaves to meet Grandma by the main route to the city. 

"I'm not coming back with you."

"You don't have any money--" 

"No. But I've accepted the job." 

Grandma lends her one of her credit cards and makes it clear that she is only allowed to use it for necessities. It doesn't really matter to Machi, she hardly ever spent her own money. Stealing has always been a reward in itself; whatever material goods came into her possession after a job were irrelevant. It felt nice to take but having things changed nothing. 

_Pathetic._

The dirt path that leads to the rented out building is a tedious walk, with too many turns and not enough lights illuminating the road, but once Machi steps inside the house, she isn’t sure what to do. She takes off her shoes and lets the mud pool by the entrance. The raindrops fall from her hair and clothing onto the wooden floor and she can feel her skin become more wet and chill under the damp material. At any other point in time she would have taken off her clothing and looked for something to keep herself warm; but tonight the cold doesn’t bother her as much or, rather, she chooses to ignore it. 

She crosses the room and opens up the sliding door which leads to a tiny patio; she walks outside and looks around at the endless forest spreading out before her. There are few lights in the distance, artificially white - they contrast with the black muted weeds and bushes almost swallowing the building whole. Machi feels like she’s lost the ability to see colour; even her bright pink hair now resembles the once-violet withered flowers holding onto the walls.

Perhaps Machi should have taken the owners’ words more seriously: that this place is only good for a complete renovation. There is peace to be found in the bleak leaves, nauseatingly flickering lights and the tar that floods the forest undergrowth; just as there is a certain uneasiness Machi has experienced before - a space taunting you with it’s emptiness as if it is hiding something more sinister in its depths, something readying itself to rip into you and push your insides out. It is an irrational fear, Machi tells herself, but one she has grown tired of for influencing her every step. 

She goes back inside, making sure to lock all the doors and windows. Looking through the drawers and cabinets she’s lucky to find some papers and a pen and, once she sets them down on the kitchen table, she sits down and pulls out her phone. 

She opens up the messages from her employer and scrolls through them, looking for an attached file she has received earlier. It downloads slowly and takes as long to extract but after all is done, she has access to all of the information that she could possibly need for her job. She opens the folders one by one to check what she’s dealing with but the moment she clicks on the gallery icon, the same burning terror creeps up on her again. 

Despite her shaking hand, she manages to press on one of the pictures.

The red colour explodes onto her surroundings and overtakes her vision.

She has seen those eyes before but she cannot look away; even when the flaring screen begins to physically hurt her.

What is terrifying her the most, however, is that they stare back at her - the cursed red dead eyes. 

*

It’s a grave, it has to be. Blacker than the space. It’s cold and moist, slithering around the room, wrapping itself around anything it encounters - disgusting and suffocating. It’s a grave for a living man, its purpose is not to hold the dead but to kill them slowly: without violence, without blood, without effort.

Pain is a privilege, in this room you are not allowed to feel; it is designed to win, to make you succumb every time; this grave that pleasures itself by watching you struggle to live. Until eventually you are no longer a being, you slowly cease to exist and you melt into the darkness, the burning cold blackness of the grave. You rot and you rot until there’s nothing left. 

You imagine yourself running towards one of the walls - if there are walls, there seems to be nothing around but a void - crashing your skull against the surface; your pouring blood the only warmth you could ever feel. You are not allowed to do that. The grave embraces you, soothes you but it only makes you more restless. The room wields power as if it were its own entity; a grave that is alive. A grave that, perhaps, has taken all of his power from the unfortunate maggots that have been imprisoned by it before you. You fear that even in death it will find you, it will punish you for insubordination; after all, there are things worse than death.

You are dying. You will not die, you know you cannot die. But you are not allowed to live. You are stuck in a state of dying; you undergo a process that will not have an end; you can barely remember when it even has started. Your body decomposes before your mind. The grave will not even allow you the privilege of insanity. But, just as you are dying, you will be going mad eventually; never to the sweet point of losing your consciousness.

You are no longer human, you are no being. You are not sure if you even still _are_ anything. 

The door opens and the light washes the room of its darkness. Killua can finally move; he falls down and it feels good when the stone scrapes his knees. He barely remembers how to breathe, he’s swallowing air as if he were drowning; spitting it out and coughing while his eyes itch and water from the light. 

He crawls towards the exit like a small child unable to walk. The distance that would take anyone a couple of steps to Killua appears as a mountain. His fingers dig into crevices between the stone tiles, and he barely pulls himself up. It is a journey that he has taken many times but each time he forgets the path, even despite the awareness that it is not the last time he will have to crawl his way out again. 

That is the most terrifying thing about the grave - knowledge that is it always there and, eventually, you will be back.

Killua reaches out to the slim and tall figure standing above him - it watches him not because it wants to, but because it can. It doesn’t move when Killua’s fingers grab onto its legs, trembling and curling before its feet. The boy looks up and sees nothing but a white flare and two black pits staring right back at him. 

Dark, cold, deep. Like his grave, they reflect the world he’s been cursed to live in. 

In a mere second he lets go and falls back, his mouth twisting into a disgusting grimace.

“You’ve learnt nothing.”

Killua screeches. He cannot tell how he can still find the strength within himself to let out such a horrifying shierk, or how, despite the numbness of his limbs, he manages to throw himself at the closing door. His fingernails break while he’s scratching the metal surface and his hands begin to bruise.

Killua is sure they will rot before he will be set free.

He hopes all of him will rot before the door opens again.

*

Alluka tiptoes around the living room until she finds herself in a perfect spot where she cannot be seen and neither can she see Killua and Kurapika talking in the kitchen but, no matter how quiet they try to be, she can understand them clearly.

Arguing again; she supposed that it must be normal to them. They trust each other and she trusts their bond but the whispery complaints do upset her sometimes. 

Killua questions Kurapika about his business, Kurapika questions Killua about Gon. They never mention Illumi’s name even though it hangs in the air whenever the Zoldyck family is brought up. It’s for the best, she figures; that name can make anyone uncomfortable.

Often Alluka will hear her own name and the rest of the conversation loses its volume. She shuts it off, covers her ears and imagines the noises she has heard the previous day on TV. 

She smiles trying to ignore the painful weight in her gut as the whispers rumble behind her back. She should have gotten used to it a long time ago.

At this point she doubts she can ever let go of the anxiety that she has done something wrong. Instead, she chooses to strongly believe that, whatever has upset either of the boys is the result of one of her mistakes: her desire to be free, to be with Killua, to be necessary.

To not be a horror, only capable of causing trouble. 

She ignores her brother when he finally emerges from the room to address her. But she’s smiling, she’s looking up at him, deaf to his words. And she smiles. She smiles as hard as she can, so hard her cheeks begin to hurt. 

A sad person doesn’t smile. If she smiles then she is not sad. If she is not sad, then neither is Killua. 

*

Machi grips the coffee cup and locks her phone when she hears a couple walk up to the table behind her and take a seat. Her eyes never leave the building across the road, she carefully examines each window and door, each person who walks in or out and the security standing around. Whenever something changes, she checks the time on her phone and makes a mental note of the patterns that she notices. Once she is done with her drink, she gets up and, as she crosses the street, she uses her Nen to hide her presence. 

Without hesitation she walks through the door and stops to look around if anyone is paying her any attention. But besides accidental looks she's given by people who pass her, the receptionists and security all seem to ignore her. 

Slowly she makes her way through the hall, counting each step and looking at the guards' positioning - being this close she realises that luckily none of them is a Nen user; should that trend keep up her job will be easier than she has previously assumed. 

When she reaches the elevator, she looks to the side at the list of names and floors searching for her target. His name is not mentioned in any way and neither is the name of his clinic - it is when Machi remembers that the latter information has never showed up in any of her files. 

Almost as if he is trying to keep a low profile. And, if he does, he surely can't have a fully legal business. Men with no connection to mafia would have few ways of obtaining something like the Kurta eyes after all, and even less funds to do so.

She walks into the elevator and picks the floor which seems most odd to her: “Improvement and Beauty”, with a golden centipede wrapping around itself to form the number 8. She presses the button and waits only a few seconds before the door opens again and she’s greeted by a blindingly white brick and annoying classical music. There’s a small fountain to the side with the water coming out of the marble centipede's mouth and artificially placed lilies float on its surface. 

She takes a few awkward steps before the receptionists notices her and stands up with a fake smile slicing her face from side to side. For a moment the woman doesn’t seem real until Machi manages to come closer and notices her chest moving with each breath she takes; even then, the woman’s face remains uncanny, as if Machi were looking at one of the statues from the hallway.

“Hello. May I help you?”

Machi takes a quick look at her surroundings, counting the cameras in the hallway and drawing an image in her head of the range they may possess. The woman behind the desk interrupts her with a sigh, however, and so Machi is forced to interact with her if she does not want to raise suspicion. 

"I'm here on behalf of my boss, he would like to make an appointment."

"What kind of appointment, Miss?" 

"Uh… is there any way I can look into your offers, it's my first time doing this." 

"Oh." 

"He's kind of an asshole and left me to do this on my own." 

"I… I see," the woman looks puzzled but she reaches for one of the magazines from the rack and places it before Machi. She turns a few pages until she reaches a list of articles about _ideal face care for men_ and hands it over. "More invasive procedures can be found on later pages. Should you have any questions I'll be happy to help." 

"Thanks," says Machi, walking away towards the sofas with the magazine but is soon stopped mid-way by the woman. 

"If I may ask, who is your boss, Miss? Perhaps he's been here before?" 

"No, it's his first time. He's… You could say he's some important boy and I'm his glorified security." 

The woman nods and quickly hides behind the desk, visibly regretful of even bringing up the topic. Machi doesn't blame her - she's clearly made her conflicted about who to side with when her whole job is to please everyone no matter her personal opinion. How, in this situation, could she ever please Machi and the somewhat non-existent boss? 

Machi sits down and pretends to look through the pages on her lap. Her eyes wander off towards the guard passing by and the numbered doors in the hallway. If any of the doors is open she tries her hardest to peek inside and make out the kind of room there must be on the other side. 

That is until something in the magazine catches her attention - a small series of numbers on a picture, right under a red box being held by a model. It appears to be nothing but an advertisement of some sort but no reference to a product can be found anywhere; there's nothing but these strange numbers and a couple of letters, barely visible on the pale gray background. 

Anyone else wouldn't even glance at the picture but Machi knows the numbers, she's seen them before on one of her jobs from Chrollo. 

Quickly she turns the pages searching for more adverts only to find more codes hiding in plain sight - some she knows, some she's seeing for the first time, some that she can guess what they mean. 

She's been right to be wary of this place. 

*

The obnoxious buzzing of mosquitoes wakes Machi up; each of them so loud that she's able to count exactly how many were grouped up on the ceiling above her bed. As her skin begins to itch from the layer of sweat, she pushes her covers off and gets up to open a window, hoping not to get bitten in the process. 

Unlike the apartment still filled with the uncomfortable sounds of mosquitoes flying around, the street is quiet. The electricity has been cut off for the fifth night in a row and there's nothing to see except blocks of concrete and a dead landscape. Anything not illuminated by the stars blurs into the black ocean of a horizon and it almost hurts her eyes to look at it. 

It is too peaceful and her thoughts are free to overwhelm her with nothing around to distract her. She knows that going to look for Pakunoda would be a waste of time. She's been seeing a man lately; Machi saw her getting ready to meet him again this evening and Pakunoda is always back early in the morning - provided she bothers to come back this soon. 

Machi has no idea who this man is but knows he is special. Pakunoda does not mention his looks, his money or status but when she does speak of him she tells Machi how he makes her feel. She elevates him, as if he is some powerful force or as if he is not human at all. She's a changed woman, there are days when Machi questions if she knows her at all. 

And there are nights like this one when Machi can't help but be jealous over the attention that has been now denied her and the kind of attention she cannot imagine herself ever receiving - the kind of attention and affection which allows you to be reborn or come alive completely; just as Pakunoda has in these recent weeks. 

She moves towards a chair and picks up a dress she's been fixing for the woman every time she finds herself being restless due to her recent anxieties. She pulls out a thread and slowly and steadily, with utmost care she pushes the needle through the material repeatedly - one could believe that every stitch she makes comes to her naturally, that every movement her hand makes is simply a muscle memory; but every spot the needle pierces and every curve the thread makes as it stretches from one piece to another is carefully planned before Machi's hand even moves after she tightens the seams.

Those threads, unlike her flesh, are strong and eternal thanks to her Nen. After she is gone, only those threads will remain, witnesses of her work, soaked in her sweat and tears, and blood. Just so that one day, someone can pick them up and touch those threads and think "who has created you". 

Machi does not know when she'll be gone or how. She doesn't care to wonder. Her threads are all that will be left of her and so she devotes herself to perfecting her craft like a mother devotes herself to her child. So that, should someone find her threads, they will receive the regard that doesn't exist for her in this world. 

*

Kurapika quickly becomes obsessed with his phone. He carries it around at all times, regularly glancing at the screen only to unlock and lock it again out of habit, even when there’s no new notification for him there. He knows that it must be unhealthy and it only stresses him out more than it helps. He brushes his thumb up and down the black screen thinking if this is how drug addicts must feel.

“God, you look so desperate,” Killua mocks him one day and Kurapika tenses from the boy’s confident gaze. There’s no possible way Killua knew of his business but the idea he did seemed unreasonably scary to Kurapika.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re waiting for a message, aren’t you?”

“I’ve… I’ve told you already: I have a job.”

“Uh huh.”

Kurapika stands up and pockets his phone. He has no plan on what to do yet to keep his hands occupied, so he ends up walking around the flat aimlessly for a while; all this time feeling Killua’s taunting gaze on himself.

“That’s not a _job thing_. You’re like… lovesick or something.”

Kurapika chokes on air and turns around on his heel. He looks back at Killua with a flustered face and wishes he were talking to Leorio instead - dealing with Leorio’s bullshit is easier, there are many ways of shutting him up. Killua, unfortunately, is not only a smartass by nature but also finds amusement by pushing people over the edge. Kurapika can only hope the boy will outgrow his teenage willfulness soon. 

“Even if: I wouldn't be the most lovesick person in this room.”

Killua grimaces and pushes his hands into the pockets of his pants. The tips of his ears go red and he looks down at the ground by Kurapika’s feet, clearly taken aback by his friend’s comeback. It takes him a moment to collect himself and figure out a way to answer. “Whatever. At least I’m not the one acting like a weirdo. Even Alluka has been asking if everything’s alright with you.”

“I’m alright. I’m waiting for someone to respond.”

“After so many days, you might as well call them.”

Kurapika thought about it before. After such a long time without a single update from Machi, he’s considered texting her if there were any news or if she needed any help. There’s a chance something has happened to her and she wouldn’t have responded but, in that case, Kurapika believes anyone who has gotten to her would have been able to track him down already. 

She’s never said what the consequences of texting her would be if he dared to ignore her demand - maybe there are none. Or maybe she would find him and try to kill him in his sleep if she has much self-importance. Is he brave enough to find out?

Killua leaps towards Kurapika and punches his side lightly, taking the older boy out of his thoughts and forcing him to look back at him. Kurapika could never believe someone could seem both embarrassed and self-assured, yet Killua is proving him wrong. 

“Do you actually think I’m lovesick?” Killua asks and there’s something else about his expression which makes Kurapika question if his friend has perhaps been ready to have _this_ conversation for a while, but was simply too stubborn and unable to find the right words to express himself. Whatever is the case, Kurapika doesn’t believe he has any right to force him to talk.

“I don’t know. I think our experiences are too different for us to use the same name.”

“Well, then… if you understand being lovesick as--”

Kurapika’s phone vibrates and he reaches for it immediately. He’s met with an eye roll from Killua who stops himself mid-sentence and chooses to let the conversation go completely, walking away to find something new to do, as teasing Kurapika has been quite unsuccessful. 

Kurapika walks deeper into the hallway and peeks at his phone like he’s trying to stop someone nonexistent from seeing the screen - although his suspicions were not completely unfounded; Killua has proven to be able to unexpectedly jump out of nowhere and make whoever’s business his business.

It would not have been the end of the world but with Killua being constantly concerned with Alluka and Illumi, there was no reason to worry him with the Spiders.

_“found something. will need more time_ _  
_ _\- Machi”_

Without hesitation he taps on the reply window. He wishes to ask what it is that she’s found but when he finally manages to write a response, he quickly deletes it and closes the messages. He repeats it a few times, using different wording, hovering over the send button only to end up overthinking his text again. Before he locks his phone, frustrated by his own indecisiveness, she sends him another message.

_“clear your schedule. i may need you”_

*

Machi’s knee jumps up and down as she’s compiling a neat list of every code from the magazine she’s managed to decipher. She’s working with several pages of labels and tables in addition to the many notes she’s taken based on the files she’s been provided and her own research. Her kitchen table is a mess, her things barely fit on it anymore, some of them hanging over the edge or already resting on the floor having been pushed off by empty takeout packaging. 

She drops her pen and stretches, whining when the back pain finally hits her. As concerned as she ends up being with people around her, she barely cares for her own well-being when she’s working. She’s aware of this, yet something in her head makes her unable to mind. 

She is now on her own, there is no Spider to call her out. She can break herself if she wishes.

The phone screen lights up and she gives it a quick glance, expecting a software update notification or perhaps Grandma asking if she’s still alive. Machi scoffs quietly, mouthing “no”, and pulls her phone closer to get a better look at the screen.

_“Already cleared. Take your time.”_

At first she’s angry. She drops her phone and stares at the papers before her, fighting the urge to rip them apart. She had one request, and only for the sake of her sanity; becoming overly familiar with that man has been something she explicitly wanted to avoid. Even if part of her knew it was inevitable: he had questions, she learned, and she had her own issues with him that she wished to resolve - through her methods would have been far from peaceful, she wanted his blood after all. The moment you get to know someone you lose your objective view of them, you begin to second-guess yourself. 

When she becomes somber, realising she’s already lost, she entertains the idea of calling Chrollo. It would have been easy to tell him a white lie, convince him she’s been working for the Chain Dude to ensnare him and turn him in. She’s sure Chrollo would be more than happy to get his hands on the man - whether he wished to bring him in as a member or punish him for his deeds against the Spider. Machi doesn’t care at this point, it is no her job to make decisions.

_Not after all you’ve done._

She looks outside the window but the green is completely gone, replaced by the darkness and the misty rain. She can hardly make out the shapes of trees and trunks, everything blurs together into an indistinguishable mess which only serves to confuse her sense of sight further by making her imagine things that aren't there; things that she cannot describe for she has not seen them before and, even now, she sees only portion of what may be lurking from under the heavy roof of leaves. 

_You’re so selfish._

Deep down she knows the reason why she’s taken this job - it has never been about the money or getting back on her feet, these are things she’s said to Grandma to pacify her and, mostly, to convince herself that she hadn’t fucked up that much. 

_You treacherous bitch._

There’s red seeping in through the slits in the window. It pours in slowly, creating a puddle on the floor which slithers towards her and with each distance it travels it appears to be getting bigger. Machi is still: paralyzed by fear and yet somehow accepting of what is happening to her. She’s been naive to think the red would disappear once Grandma released her from the room - that world is nothing but a reflection of one's own mind. And Machi’s brain is injured and defective, refusing to heal.

The red fills the room with ease as if it were water yet it feels heavy around her feet, her ankles and knees, and as it travels upwards it is not wet but painfully dry, scratching her skin so much she is sure she will bleed. It hovers above her and it pulls her down, it forces her to make herself smaller as it oppresses her from the sides. 

_A treacherous bitch._

“A fucking whore!”

It stabs itself into her, fills her veins with itself and burns her from the inside. She tugs at her own skin and pulls on her flesh, trying to rip it out of her body like it’s real, like it’s just a parasite she can take out and treat the wounds afterwards. When she tries to stand up she loses balance and trips over the chair, falling to the ground with so much force she can almost feel her skull break. 

She turns onto her back and notices a figure above her. She knows it watches her though the cannot see its face clearly through the red fog that obscures her sight, even when it kneels by her side and gets close enough its breath tickles the tip of her nose. It reaches out to her, brushing the hair off her face and it sounds like a hum coming out of its mouth.

Machi feels cold and at peace. She fully embraces the touch of the figure above her when its hand slips onto her cheek and down again onto her neck. Its gentleness is so jarring in comparison to how the red has treated her, that she cannot help but cry.

She grasps its hands and directs its fingers so they coil around her throat. A short breath escapes her, asking it to squeeze harder. 

And it is exactly when the figure lets go, leaving her to whimper and shake on the floor while the red floods the room.

*

The room vibrates from the banging music. The colourful lights dance on every wall and among the crowd which continuously jumps and stomps over each other. The air is too heavy and too hot but most people are too drunk to care, stumbling to wherever they get pushed over. 

The atmosphere around the bar is more peaceful, even with the crowd occupying the center of it, spilling drinks which they are given and shouting for refills. Hisoka stays at the other end, paying no attention to the events unfolding around him, to people turning into animals, seeking out chaos and giving into it. All of it is just a background noise, allowing him to go numb as he stares at the surface of his drink which reflects the different colours of nightclub lights that manage to sneak past his shadow.

Hisoka thinks back to the stranger in front of his hotel building who had tried to sell him drugs; he's a little regretful he has dismissed him then. Perhaps if he hadn't done that, he would’ve been now having more fun on his own in the comfort of his room. 

Perhaps he would have been more successful in shutting off the intrusive thoughts that have been bothering him whenever he's plagued by boredom. 

But this, Hisoka looks around - visibly irritated and exhausted - this place does nothing to entertain him. 

He finishes his drink in one swing and calls for the bartender. The alcohol fails to affect him this evening the way he has wanted it to; he's hardly the depressed-drunk kind of person but right now everything tastes quite miserable. 

He hopes that once he's made the decision to give up and leave, the drug dealer hasn't changed his location. 

At the same time when he loosens his tie, he feels sharp manicured nails scratch at the back of his neck and fingers grab him by the collar of his shirt. Hisoka looks over his shoulder and is met with a dark hazy gaze of a woman he's never seen before. She's pretty yet he cannot imagine a scenario where she would actually interest him enough for him to seek her out, even though he knows that plenty of ordinary men would be more than happy if she spared them as much as a glance. 

When she pulls on his shirt, forcing him to stand up, he chooses to obediently follow her through the crowd. He winces at the flashing white light, cutting all movement into still frames and distorting his sense of time. His body moves fast but his surroundings remain the same, the woman's black hair ends up blending with the background and soon he forgets why and where he's going. The woman has to take his hand to make sure he's still behind her.

Once he's pushed into a dim bathroom, the migraine that has been brewing in the back of his brain fully explodes and he can barely stand straight. He doubts he will be able to _perform_ well at all but, whether luckily or not, the woman's playful expression is gone and she steps away. Something strapped to her thigh blinks when she moves and Hisoka flashes her an amused smile before bringing his attention to the other woman in the room - leaning against the sink and observing him like a hawk. 

"Didn't take you for a party person."

"I'm not," Grandma responds and fixes her glasses. Slowly, she shifts closer to Hisoka, cautious of what he may be capable of despite the intoxication. Underneath her seemingly confident demeanor, she obviously fears him. That realisation when he can clearly see her concerned face sends a shiver down his spine. 

"I will ask you this once: what business do you have with the boy?" 

"Oh? Which one? No, wait. Let me guess…" he says cocking his head and biting at the inside of his lip, acting as if he were thinking hard of his next answer. "You mean Kurapika, don't you? He's now a client of yours…"

"He's been to your place recently. Why?"

Hisoka leans forward, breathing her in. It disturbs her enough for her to fall back but his hand quickly catches a single strand of her white hair and twists it around his index finger. When his tongue flicks against his lower lip, he can sense the woman on the side grab the blade but doubts she will attack him unprovoked.

“Why? We’re lovers, of course.”

Grandma immediately tries to reach for his forehead but he manages to catch her arm in time, and, using his Bungee Gum, pulls the other woman away, trapping her against the door before she can charge at him. “You don’t want to use _it_ on me.”

“I’ve been wanting to use it on you since you’ve showed up in Meteor City.”

“You’ve wanted me for so long?”

“I knew you were full of shit.” She sounds as if she were to spit at him but decided to hold back the last second. Maybe if she weren’t a coward, Hisoka thinks, she would have punched him by now. She never would, he knows; even if she tried he would cut her in half with ease, there was nothing she could offer him that would incite him to compete with her - in a way, he also knows she’s aware of that as well.

So he lets go of her and looks in the mirror to fix himself. If he needed a sign to leave before, then that is it - he has no interest in playing Grandma’s games, she’s been nothing but a convenience, once. Whatever idea she has that she had any part in his life beyond that point is laughable to him. She’s always been a woman who built her empire on paranoia and insecurities; no smart act will ever hide it. 

“Men like you and Chrollo are the same.”

Something snaps. 

The _snap_ cannot be seen or heard but it is a sensation that everyone in the room experiences in the same split second - a collective realisation of an oncoming calamity. It took a shape around Hisoka’s form that is both monstrous and incomparable to anything that exists in this world. It breaks and cracks rapidly, it violently whips around the room with impulsiveness but a purpose to lacerate. It doesn’t glow but blinds with a gush of colours which seem so unreal, as if birthed by a terrorised mind that cannot comprehend anything beyond abstraction.

In fact, both women could say that is exactly what it’s like to be exposed to Hisoka’s Nen. To have to withstand its presence is simply too cruel, even if they should find themself dreaming of this encounter - it had forever left a mark that would remind them of itself, just to spite them.

Grandma’s head hits against the tiles and they crack under the force she’s been thrown at the wall with. She feels the skin on the back of her head break and her warm blood dripping down her neck.

“Do not compare me to Him.”

Before she can react, he steps away and turns to the door; her companion sits curled up on the floor, struggling to breathe from the anxiety the man’s Nen caused her. 

“I’ve got people willing to pay a lot to get to you,” she says but, no matter how much she tries, she cannot mask how unconvinced she is that any of them could stop someone like Hisoka. She’s choosing a wrong moment to be proud; she knows she’s only alive because he simply cannot be bothered to kill her.

“Then send them to me. I’m _starving_ for some fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wished to include more in this chapter but as I'm working full time I'd end up updating even slower.
> 
> I do not wish to explain too much behind my writing process but I thought I should mention - in reference to the last part of this chapter - is that I've observed certain behaviour from people who have always been/or thought they had been in control and then have that control taken away from them.  
> I think it is a similar case with Hisoka after he has lost to Chrollo.  
> But maybe I'm wrong and I've misinterpreted things in the manga - I guess until it updates I won't know for sure.


	4. Reticence

Machi turns the small and round metal device in her fingers, staring down at it meaninglessly and waiting for Grandma to speak up. The woman’s behaviour has been strange, if not concerning, for the past couple of days: she’s cold and erratic, as if annoyed by Machi trying to have a conversation with her. But she delivers, she helps her out providing her with a tracking device for which Machi is grateful.

But now Grandma sits behind the desk, hiding her face with her clasped hands and nervously looks the girl up and down; her mouth opens for a short second before it closes again and as she sighs and drops into her chair, Machi then realises the woman will not speak unless she forces her to.

“Something’s troubling you.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just overworked.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

For the first time Grandma looks her in the eyes and her face seems soft, even as it’s obscured by the evening shadows. She places her hands on the desktop and straightens whatever paper she has been reading through before the girl came in. She smiles to herself; she barely holds a chuckle which causes Machi to grow more confused than she was before.

“No, it’s me. _I’ve_ done something wrong.”

“Should I know about it?”

“Probably.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Probably not.”

Machi’s lips tighten and her brow furrows. She grips the device in her hands tighter, without a thought that she could break it. “Is it about my employer?”

Grandma shakes her head and Machi’s body relaxes. 

“Alright then.” She turns around but when she’s about to reach for the door handle, the woman’s words stop her midway. 

“Unless I have full control of my Nen, it gets affected by other people's mind when I put them in the room. But our memories are subjective and our brain sometimes deceives us the most - you shouldn't take everything you have seen in there as the truth."

“My brain is pretty reliable,” she scoffs and walks out of the office, shutting the door behind her a bit more forcefully than she should have. The green of the living room suddenly seems sickly and the expensive furniture makes her want to destroy it. Machi can hardly hold back her foot that’s about to land a powerful kick in one of the sofa legs. 

She wishes that Grandma had just kept her mouth shut. 

*

Kurapika dreams that night. He dreams of concrete blocks climbing towards the sky that is obscured by dust, pollution and merciless flare of the sun. The floor is a mix of sand and rocks, it is uncomfortable and hard and painful under his feet. He doesn't take a step, fearful that it would break apart and let him fall into whatever hell has scorched this place. 

Machi stands before him, or so he assumes. Her face is distorted and her body shapeless; the only thing he can recognise are the pink strands of her hair brushing against her shoulders. Back at Yorknew her presence perhaps would have been alarming; easily she would have been able to make him distressed with each step she took towards him. 

Somehow, in this dream, she doesn’t appear as a stranger. He would never dare to imagine himself actually knowing her - whatever he’s been shown of Machi is not his to use to create his own image of her. Yet he cannot help but allow her hands to gently explore his face, as if he is a statue on display, one of many that she must have stolen in her lifetime. 

The cuts on her fingertips feel good on his skin; they’re soft but they manage to mark him, he feels millions of other cuts left behind while her fingers carefully trace his features.

She stops at his eyes.

She caresses his eyelids for a while - as a warning, he supposes. Despite that he has no desire to stop her. What she wishes to do is inevitable, he realises, it is the price she demands: for the work she’s done for him, for Chrollo, for the Spider.

Her fingers dig into him, sharply, suddenly. They twist and turn the nerves inside his head. They pull on his eyes with so much force, he thinks his head will split open. 

His eyes, his red eyes, bloodied eyes now resting in her bloodied hands, have snapped out of his skull. It hurts, like two gunshots in his head.

One for Pakunoda.

One for the pain he’s caused Machi.

He loses balance and trips over the unsteady ground. She steps on him, pushing him deeper into the burning sand. He will drown, he fears, failing to grasp the rocks and the concrete to keep himself above the surface. 

He can still see Machi observing him, with his eyes rolling between her fingers. He feels the cuts again, the cuts she makes and the cuts on her fingertips stroking his eyeballs too gently - it's soothing, pleasant almost. He experiences her hands as if they have dug into his brain and entwined themselves with his thoughts. It is an embrace both painful and comforting; she can carry him safely or crush him in an instant. 

Her presence melts into him and he can almost see her, some kind of shape that he cannot believe is true to what she is like in the real world, but a shape that is _her_. 

An unsteady shape, breaking down and pulling itself together, seemingly unsure what it should resemble. 

Kurapika often considers himself something unnamed, unnatural even. Presence of this Machi, akin to himself, is a relief. 

His body jerks up at the sound of the keys rattling by the entryway. He gets up quickly, confused and disoriented by his surroundings. His hands touch his face, making sure his eyes are still there and won't fall out as soon as he gets up. 

He sneaks through the room towards the door, which proves unnecessary as Killua already waits for him, with the key in the lock and apologetic face. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I… I guess I needed some alone time." 

"Oh." 

Killua turns his head away from Kurapika, as if he said something he should be ashamed of. The look in his eyes is dull, he seems tired by his constant sleeplessness and anxiety that he believes go unnoticed by Kurapika.

"Could you keep an eye on Alluka while I'm gone?" 

Kurapika nods and smoothly turns the key in its lock, opening the door for the boy. 

Killua doesn't say goodbye, he disappears behind the corner of the stairway without a sound. 

*

The white apartment blocks are uninviting just as the artificial greenery in the courtyard. The windows are too oppressive, looking down like many judgemental eyes, neither of them flickers with life and the only sound is that of cars driving on the other side, muted by the concrete walls. 

It's Wednesday night, exactly eleven o'clock - Killua is supposed to have called Gon one hour ago. Not because he has made any promise but because it is a goal he has set for himself. He figured he has been making excuses for long enough and that eventually he needs to forget any awkwardness that may arise from this single phone call. Isn't it what he wants, to be able to talk to Gon? Isn’t it what Gon would have wanted: to talk to him too? 

Despite that there's constant hesitation whenever Killua grabs his phone or sees his friend's name displayed on the screen. It's like an instinct that keeps you from putting your hand into the fire or stepping onto shattered glass - Killua suddenly doesn't know if he should insert himself into Gon's life. 

After all, is he not partially responsible for Gon's current state? 

Killua's hand travels to his forehead and feels his skin until it reaches a small dip - invisible if you aren’t specifically looking for it. His fingers rest at the scar for a moment before they begin brushing through his hair and exploring his scalp. Soon, the other hand follows and Killua knows he seems like a madman, searching for something that most likely isn't there anymore. 

But if that's the case, why is he still so afraid?

Perhaps it is not his brother's fault that he is a coward, perhaps it's the kind of person he has always been but has never realised until now; shifting blame, like he does, unable to improve, delusional and ignorant. 

His family must be now laughing at his arrogance while he tries his hardest to evade Illumi - maybe his brother has already found him; he stays in the shadows as long as he is entertained by his siblings' reckless notion that they're in any way safe. 

Killua swears that sometimes he can feel the man's breath on his neck, when he is alone and broken and exposed. His brother is there to taunt him, to _comfort_ him. Illumi is an inseparable presence for as long as the blood in their veins is the same. He is part of every cell that makes him, he exhales the air Killua breathes in. They are the same, as much as the boy tries to make himself different - yet it is nothing but a performance. 

Gon deserves something good, something honest. 

Killua is neither of these things. 

*

Tracking down Shiraishi turns out to be the easiest part of her job. The driver doesn't pay any attention when she purposefully drops her bag onto the pavement and kneels to pick up her stuff and attach Grandma's device to the bottom of the car. He doesn't seem to care either when she takes a seat on a nearby bench and watches him with her sunglasses on while mindlessly scrolling through her phone. 

His complete unawarnes to Machi's obvious spying is almost hilarious; it is why she is able to learn her target's name after hours of fruitless research. 

The driver steps out and rushes to open the back door once he notices another man walk confidently towards him - he's followed by two other men in matching black suits while he himself is dressed quite casually. She finds his gray hair distinctive while his face seems too youthful for what she has imagined a face of a mafia leader to be. She supposes that other women would find him attractive - she doesn't, he doesn't seem any more real than a model in one of his adverts. 

"Mr. Shiraishi!" the driver exclaims, to which the doctor halts and grimaces at the sound of his name. Machi is sure that at this moment Mr. Shiraishi has realised the other man's mistake too. 

Yet without a word he gets into the car, forcefully shutting the door behind him. Machi doesn't worry she has no way of following him if he drives off now - all she needs are the destinations, she can figure out the rest in her own time. 

She watches the car join the sluggish traffic as she checks once again that the tracking device is working. 

Standing up and taking a path back out of the city towards the outskirts she can sense something shifting nearby and she stops completely, erratically observing the crowd around her for any danger that might be awaiting her.

No one really cares for her presence except for one man who jumps into the crowd as soon as their eyes meet from across the road. Machi neither recognises him nor does she have any idea who he may be. 

She continues her journey despite sensing the man's faint Nen nearby. The route she takes is empty in comparison to the main streets - she's making herself irresponsibly exposed and, once she turns into an alleyway, she knows the man has taken the bait.

She slows down, enough for the man to be able to follow her easily; she takes her time deciding which way to turn and lets her footsteps be heard when she goes around the corner. When she finds a dead end she quickly pulls herself up the building and hides on a flat rooftop, waiting for the man to walk into the trap. 

Just as she has predicted, he steps into her threads which in a split second tighten around him enough to cut him if he makes any rapid movement. 

He's smarter than to protest his capturement, which does surprise Machi considering how thoughtless his actions have been so far - perhaps he's better trained to recognise when to give up than how not to endanger himself in the first place. 

Machi drops down effortlessly right in front of the man. She ignores the panic in his eyes and immediately reaches into one of the pockets of his suit, searching for some kind of identification. 

"I-I'm not here to hurt you." 

Machi can't help but smirk at his confession; as if he is able to hurt her. "Shut up." 

She flips through his wallet but not before taking out the cash and pocketing it for herself; she needs her "own" money and the Chain Dude is not going to pay her for a while. 

She fails at finding anything of importance but amid the countless restaurant coupons she's able to come across a business card with Grandma's information on it. She holds it up to the man's face which confuses him at first but soon he's able to smile through his distress as if he found a way out of his situation. 

"She's the one who hired me to keep an eye on you!" 

"Why would she do that?" 

"To make sure you were safe? I don't know." 

Without any regard for the man's wellbeing she lets go of the threads, letting his body fall onto the floor. His bones crack and he whines for a second, but Machi throws his wallet back at him, giving him a sign to leave her alone. He runs off so fast he almost trips over his own feet. 

Machi has heard only good things about Grandma's mercenaries: competence is the most valuable quality to the woman. She refuses to believe that if Grandma is actually trying to spy on her this is the best she can do. 

Is it some kind of test? Or a form of diversion?

Or maybe the man wasn't lying and his task was truly to watch over her? 

She dismisses the event completely and decides to worry about it once she's done with the Chain Dude's job first. She doubts that Grandma is in a mood to offer explanations anyway. 

*

Leorio hasn't been able to fully recognise Kurapika's face for a while; it seems like a reflection on a distorted surface - allowing him to tell the boy apart from a stranger but not be able to perceive his exact features. Looking down at the picture Killua has recently sent him, he sees Kurapika standing behind the siblings like an immaterial figure, something made from shadow and dust. His expression is haunted and posture uncanny. If someone told him he was pasted onto the photo after it was taken he would probably believe them. 

It takes too much effort for Leorio not to become angry or frustrated by the state the boy has found himself in; in the end it tires him and he is forced to come to the realisation that there may be nothing he can do to fix him. But he has lost one friend already, to an illness he couldn’t fight, he fears that another death, even death of a spirit, will break him. If he doesn’t try to fix Kurapika, then is he anything but a failure of a friend?

The boy suffers from an illness, as strange as it may sound. The idea itself had seemed strange to Leorio the first time he had come up with it while reminiscing about the events in Yorknew. He has been trained to heal body not mind but isn’t the brain part of the body? Should he have given up without an attempt?

Whatever had happened to Kurapika when the Judgement Chain had been broken did not seem normal. It would not surprise the man if such a powerful technique would have taken its physical toll on his friend - it appears to have changed him to some extent, turned him from the boy he’s known from the time they had spent sailing to the hunter exam to someone he would have assumed to be a completely different person had he not been present during Kurapika’s recovery.

It’s the woman’s fault, he instinctively knows, the Spider woman who has given up her life for a reason he cannot comprehend. There is a chance she was the only one with the cure for Kurapika’s illness and she had taken it with her to hell; if that’s the case, Leorio just has to find his way there and back.

Having glanced at the picture of his friends for the last time, he pockets his phone and grabs onto a wooden railing, He climbs the steep stairs to board the ship that will take him to Whale Island.

*

Machi visits Kyou before retreating back to her cabin. The woman sets up a table outside and brings out a bowl of blueberry dumplings and cream. It's been a while since Machi had anything homemade for dinner so she accepts the offer; before they sit down to eat, she mentions the money she owes for the first time she has come around but Kyou pretends not to hear her while filling their plates with food. 

Her daughter Yuu shows up eventually. Instead of walking she takes long leaps and jumps into her seat only to devour the dumplings like a wild animal in a matter of seconds. Without a word she gets up just as she came and grabs a nearby branch and begins stabbing and hitting nearby bushes with it. 

Machi cannot tell what the girl is imagining herself doing - she's never played pretend as a child, too busy with work and survival. She hadn’t known the joy of creation until she had learned to use her Nen and, even then, she rarely used it for her own entertainment. 

"You know, the sea's level is going to rise tonight, it will cover most of the shore and it will be so close that we will be able to hear it from here." 

"Is it safe?" 

"I believe so. The old town is surrounded with the quay walls, they've stood there longer than some of the factories. It's mostly hotels who complain that the private beaches become _unappealing_." 

Machi ducks suddenly, just in time to avoid the branch swing at a high speed towards her face. Kyou first looks at her terrified, possibly checking if Machi is alright and then turns to her daughter; the little girl is standing still, her knuckles are white from gripping the branch and her face is horrifyingly angry for someone as young as her. 

"Yuu--"

"She's evil." Before the woman can even begin to question her daughter's actions, Yuu drops her makeshift weapon and runs inside the teashop. Her hard and heavy steps can be heard from the table. They halt once Yuu smashes the door to what may be her room. 

"I'm so sorry, I have no idea why--" 

"It's fine," Machi tries to reassure her, her expression the same as it was seconds ago when she was eating the dumplings. "She's probably right."

When Machi is ready to leave, Kyou packs the leftovers for her and promises to deliver her teashop's speciality any morning without a charge if she only phones earlier. Machi dismisses the apology, insisting she is hardly bothered by what occurred; if anything, she's puzzled and curious about the girl's behaviour.

"Had she not taken so long to position I probably wouldn't have reacted so quickly," Machi says, with a playful smirk on her face but Kyou takes her words too seriously. 

"I don't know what got into her!" 

Machi cocks her head and looks up into one of the windows of the living quarters. Yuu stares her down from behind a curtain but walks away as soon as Machi waves her hand in the girl's direction.

Yuu's words ring inside her head for the remainder of the day. 

*

The sea is loud. Its sound manages to break through the uneasy forest and the overgrown walls of the guest house; it is enough for her to imagine that the flooded beach must be just outside the front door and soon it would overflow into the room. Machi lies on her side, restlessly watching the floor for any sign of the water. She wouldn't mind for it to consume her, she wouldn't mind if it comes as she sleeps - that would be ideal for her. What does bother her is the constant whisper of the waves. They're loud enough for her not to be able to hear her own thoughts. Instead they remind her of something she has refused to think about ever since she has found herself in this city. 

She turns onto her back and looks up at the dark ceiling. Her vision becomes obscured by many blurred red dots floating in the air. Machi cannot tell if they are simply an illusion, akin to a trick of the light, or if they are a real entity - a part of the collective or something separate. Not that it matters. 

Yuu is right. She is evil. 

Machi struggles to get out of bed, she is tired and it's easy to hide under the covers instead of facing whatever force that has been terrorising her. Eventually she is able to stand up and move towards the patio door and slide it to the side using her full body strength.

The outside is empty. It appears similar to the world she had been put in during her recovery; except instead of the hazy fog that had often evoked a sense of longing she has never thought herself capable of, there's somber darkness which makes her cower with its mere presence. There is no place for the enjoyment she had managed to find before, in the silent apartment and invisible streets. The sound of the wildlife has been replaced with something more feral that not even the sea waves could muffle. It seems like a great creature among the shadows who overpowers the forest itself with no effort, as if everything here belongs to it. 

Machi knows she is being watched. She just doesn't know who, or what, is watching her exactly. To imagine a monster stalking her in the dark is irrational and cliché but somehow it manages to make her surroundings more bearable. 

The alternative is nothing she even wants to consider. She tells herself it is not even a possibility - she's “dead”, isn't she? And she is making herself so vulnerable that it would be a waste to miss such an opportunity. 

Unless He's toying with her again. 

Machi takes a few steps forward and sinks her feet into the damp grass. The bushes scratch her legs but she barely feels a thing. She waits a few seconds. Another few minutes. Almost an hour, perhaps more. The sky appears to be a shade lighter than it was before. She's still alive. 

So He _is_ toying with her. 

"Fuck you," she mouths to the empty space and turns around to head back inside. Just as she grabs the door, there's a red flare in the corner of her eyes and when she glances in that direction, she can see a red dot, similar to the ones she's seen just moments ago, glowing behind the trees.

She jumps through the threshold and shuts the door so hard it shakes in its frame. 

She is actually going insane. 

*

Not too often Pakunoda looks so ecstatic, in fact Machi cannot remember the last time she tread so openly - her step is always confident, but rarely does she walk with anticipation. Machi doesn't worry about what the woman has prepared for her. If she is so happy then surely it cannot be a bad thing; something stupid or pointless maybe, but nothing Machi cannot endure. 

Pakunoda leads her to an old clinic whose owner has abandoned the building long before either of them had come to Meteor City. Its purpose now is that of a haven - its unspoken rule of no violence is generally respected as much as the few people who chose to devote themselves to helping those who come to visit. 

To Machi it smells too much like rot, she prefers not to come here if it isn't necessary. 

Pakunoda slips through the sick and injured lying on makeshift beds and the healers standing around who are trying to do as much as possible to ease their pain. The woman stops by the end of the room, in front of a heavy door which can be opened only by the voluntary staff. The death bay - each person who manages to leave is a miracle, most do not. 

Surprisingly they're let in without a word. The healer only throws "you're late" at Pakunoda before retreating to aid his patient which makes Machi realise that someone has been expecting them. It only makes her more nervous and she no longer looks forward to whatever the woman has prepared for her. 

"Cheer up," says Pakunoda, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly as if it would ever be enough to reassure Machi. "No one important is dying." 

"Then why are we--" 

"She's here. She's ready whenever." Pakunoda pushes her forward. It is when Machi notices a man in a worn-out suit turning his head to meet the woman's gaze but he does so in the opposite direction to Machi; even when she walks up to him and stands by his side, his black bangs obscure his face. She can only see his clean-shaven jaw and his soft lips forming into a thin line. 

Realising Pakunoda’s strange friend has seemingly little interest in her, she brings her attention over to an older man. He lies soundlessly on a bedroll soaked in blood that has been pouring out of his poorly bandaged leg. She kneels by him and undoes the dressing slowly so as not to damage the tissue further - the stench coming from the wound makes her gag but knowing she's being observed by not only her companions but the nosy staff, she quickly manages to regain her composure. Covering her mouth with a sleeve, she examines the deep cut; whatever instrument has been used it has dealt some damage to one of the bigger veins. Not enough to make the man bleed out immediately, but enough to make it difficult to treat the wound easily. She doesn't doubt that the man couldn't have recognised the problem and has therefore let the injury fester. But had he thought about getting a healer sooner, he wouldn't be here now: lying in the death bay, surrounded by the worst filth in Meteor City. 

"I can try to fix it but it won't heal properly unless I cut some of the flesh out." 

She senses the young man behind her shift but she doesn't bother to check whether he does so due to his curiosity or unease. She puts on a pair of gloves she's used to carry around, though after she's done with this job she will need to throw them out. She pulls out a single thread and holds it between her fingers; she makes sure it's sharp before she presses it to the patient's rotten leg and begins to carve out any tissue that looks diseased. 

It is a blessing the man's fever has deemed him absent-minded; if he were to feel the true extent of the pain the girl has been putting him through, she would have never been able to tend his injury. 

Machi begins to sew the muscles back together where possible. Yet despite removing the bad tissue, she knows that in Meteor City a wound infection is a death sentence - unless you find a Nen user with an ability to eliminate it, there is just no medicine readily available to those in need. She cannot save him, she can just buy him some time.

She mentions that while pushing the skin together as tightly as she's allowed to without making the healing process uncomfortable for the patient; her threads should help him regenerate but not until he recovers. 

"That's not necessary."

Machi's body stills and a shiver runs down her spine as she hears the young man speak up for the first time. His voice isn't very deep and yet it seems to vibrate in the air around her. It's gentle. Almost. There's something odd about the way he talks that makes him sound so _sure_ of himself, something that is greater than confidence. "She’ll suffice." 

"I told you."

Machi stands up. She finally decides to turn to him but she wonders whether the choice is really hers or if she can look at him because he allows her to. 

How does she even begin to describe him should anyone ask? How does she memorise his face and take in all of its features. She doesn't believe that it's possible. 

He's beautiful. She's embarrassed that she cannot find a different word but then again, she never had the necessity as other men she's ever encountered could not compare. His beauty is unlike Pakunoda's - while she chooses to offer comfort or to strike fear, Machi is sentenced to experience both terror and awe while she watches the man. 

When he smiles, her insides are set on fire and it tears her apart. It must be what jealousy feels like; he turns away and she realises that his smile is not for her. 

"I think we are all ready for the meeting tomorrow." 

*

Sooner or later they needed to have this conversation. Kurapika would rather have dealt with his mess on his own but in a situation where he no longer is responsible for his life alone, he needed to prepare his friends for the eventual chaos. His only wish is that they show understanding, even if they chose to leave - preferably they will in order to ensure their safety.

“Did you suffer brain damage while I was gone? Should I call Leorio?”

Kurapika sinks into the chair; the heaviness of Killua’s aura makes him feel like he dove in too deep and too quickly and his chest is about to burst. Regret washes over him and he can’t come up with a lie he could throw at the boy to pretend everything he’s just said is a poor joke. But Kurapika is not the one to tell jokes such as these, he wouldn’t even consider himself someone with a good sense of humour. Killua knows it too.

He should have stayed quiet. 

“I know it may seem like I’m making a great mistake--”

“You are!”

“But there is no one else I could’ve reached out to.”

“A Phantom Troupe member seemed like the best option to you? To _you_?”

“I know it’s ridiculous!”

Killua walks away and stops by the window. He breathes the sea breeze in and out, trying to calm down and reassess the situation. It would’ve been easier if Kurapika had told him of his plan from the very beginning instead of plotting behind his and Alluka’s back. “Do you not trust me?”

“I do. I did not wish to burden you.”

“Kurapika, you’re so stupid...”

Kurapika can’t argue with that. Lately he’s been feeling like everything he’s done has been nothing but a series of bad choices and he has no way of fixing things which have resulted from his poor judgement. He has never had the ability to ask for help or be honest about his troubles. But that is not his fault; his fault is that he has never even bothered to try and change even when everyone around him did. 

Once he finds courage to look at Killua’s back, he can no longer see the withdrawn and mischievous boy he has always taken him for. He sees someone who is still scared and yet possesses more maturity and selflessness than Kurapika had ever shown. He realises his detachment has undermined everything Killua’s growth has done to bring them closer. 

He should’ve just kept quiet like he always does. He should never say a word: not about the eyes, not about the Spiders, not about the visions occupying his brain.

“Why now?”

“She texted me this morning saying she believes she’ll be able to finish the job today.”  
“Good.”

“But there is something else I must ask of her.”

Killua crosses his arms and turns his head, catching a glimpse of Kurapika’s miserable posture. The look in his friend’s eyes is so pathetic that it almost makes Killua feel bad for reacting so harshly to his friend’s confession. He would have apologised had Kurapika not mentioned his next plan. “Will I find out what it’s about after the fact too?”

“Not if you choose to see her with me.”

“I will. You need a bodyguard.”

Kurapika doesn’t argue with that offer so as not to provoke the younger boy further. He doubts that including Killua is even a good idea, despite being the one who came up with it. But, putting his insecurities aside, perhaps he doesn’t have to deal with his problems alone. Giving Killua and himself a chance is the least he can think of to make up for his insincerity. 

*

The villa is awfully quiet tonight. The routes frequented by the guards are empty and the outside lights flicker for the last couple of times before shutting down completely. The only sources of sound are the rustling trees surrounding the property and the water in the pool disrupted by the wind. 

Shiraishi’s wet steps echo inside the house as he passes through the corridors with one hand securing his bathrobe and the other firmly holding a gun. He pauses his movements at a sight of any shadow shifting in the dark or a noise made by the old building itself. He takes advantage of his knowledge of the layout and moves more confidently with each step, believing that should anyone try to attack him, his trained aim and experience with occasional intruders will work in his favour.

He just needs to reach the emergency exit and grab the car keys - from there he can try to contact one of his men. Perhaps he should’ve been more careful after receiving information that there has been an intruder in the warehouse but he assumed that his guards would be capable of shutting them down; it’s been confirmed that whoever has broken in is working alone, surely a one person cannot pose a threat to a group of organised mercenaries?

Shiraishi slithers around the corner and peeks into the living room - the moonlight reveals the room to be completely empty but as the man walks in and heads towards the dining area, he notices something glisten behind the sofa. Puzzled he dares to make a turn and take a quick glance at the source of the mess but, as he does so, the lights inside the house flicker again and the chandelier blinds him for a few seconds.

But a few seconds is more than enough for his captor to set off their trap and he soon topples over, face first into the polished wood. When he finally regains his vision, he sees the body of one of his guards cut into pieces and his blood traveling along the crevices between the panels. Before Shiraishi can shout, something lifts him up and throws him onto the couch like a ragdoll - at that point his shock keeps him from making noise, especially when the intruder reveals themself to him. It’s a woman, too young to be able to overpower him so easily and too unassuming in a way she moved and looked down at him. Shiraishi refuses to accept she is on her own.

“I had hoped I didn’t have to come here either. But I couldn’t find what I’ve been looking for in your warehouse and I can’t seem to find it here. So I’m quite desperate for some help, you see.” 

“You’re a dumb bitch if you think I’ll help you. My men will be here any second--” Shiraishi cries when the threads around his body tighten, some cutting lightly into his skin but enough to make it burn uncomfortably.

“You’re lucky my employer forbid any torture.” Machi hums something nonsensical under her nose and drops onto a sofa opposite to the man. She crosses her legs and makes herself cosy with the cushions surrounding her. Despite how self-assured she may seem, she is exhausted after the first real job since her recovery. It’s been too long without using her Nen abilities to their fullest potential, she realises it now; just like the fact that she’ll need to relearn many things she had once perfected. 

She takes out her phone and scrolls for a short while until she finds the picture of the Kurta eyes. She turns the screen to the man and notices his brow flinch slightly - the moment it happens he loses the last chance he had at convincing her he may not have been the person she’s been looking for.

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen such a thing in my life.” That’s a lie. 

“Alright, I’ll make this easy for you.” She looks back at her phone and once more searches through the documents provided by her employer. She takes her time to organise the necessary information and speaks up again “this set of the eyes has been bought through an online auction two months ago. The name of the buyer is fake but he registered as working for a real company - a company which basically serves as a middle-man for other people.”

“You’re implying I hired someone to buy the eyes for me. I fail to see how you can prove I’ve done such a thing; their whole purpose is to erase any link one would have to a product.”

“Well… They made a _mistake_ , if you can call it that. They keep a record of their clients. And they always charge an item’s value plus fifty percent. Simple math.”

“You can’t just--!”

“The Kurta eyes had cost the most jenny at the auction, their value had been unique. If you don’t believe me, ask the hunter who has done the research.” To make her point clear, she gets off the sofa and pushes her phone into his face, displaying the report of the hunter who has assisted the Chain Dude with tracking down Shiraishi’s business. The data he has provided is more extensive than what Machi has managed to mention and leaves no room for an argument. 

Shiraishi understands that. His body tenses and his skin turns sickly white. Whatever parts of his body he’s managed to dry off are now covered in a sheet of hot sweat. His eyes flick between the girl and her phone. He’s cornered, to a greater extent than Machi thinks he is. 

“Look. I’m… I’m sorry for calling you a bitch earlier.” She really doesn’t care but doesn’t bother to mention that. “ _I do not have the eyes._ I’m an artist, not a collector.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m as much of a middle-man as the other company. I assume you haven’t found any records of the eyes in the warehouse? And you shouldn’t have because they have never been there.”

Machi’s arms drop to her sides - dealing with this man is more trouble than his guards have been, even when they managed to point their guns at her. He either doesn’t speak at all or speaks in riddles; she considers herself a patient person but the notion of hurting him without the Chain Dude knowing is too tempting. 

“If you’re a middle-man, that means someone else possesses the eyes.”

“Yes!”

“And you can tell me who exactly.”

Shiraishi twists in his seat but halts as soon as the threads dig deeper under his skin. Machi, not trying to make him her enemy since he’s decided to open up to her, loosens the strings but leaves them on in case he changes his mind.

“If I do so, I will pay with my life.”

“I can arrange that if you do not cooperate with me either. I can also ensure your safety if you give me the info already.”

“I _can’t_.”

Machi walks up to him and brings her gloved hand to his head. She grabs his hair tightly and pulls it back to see his face clearly.

He’s petrified. If she does any more damage, she thinks he’s going to cry. Yet somehow that allows her to understand and discover more than she has in the past couple of weeks.

“They used a Nen ability to sign a contract with you.”

The man neither denies nor confirms that statement. But he doesn’t have to.

“Did you notice the centipede?”

Machi raises her brow at him but soon she turns away from him and looks around the room. She remembers the centipede art piece back in the man’s clinic but only now does she spot the creature embroidered on the cushions she's sat beside. Hearing the man stomp his feet on the floor, she lowers her gaze and sees the worm burned into the wooden planks, crawling in circles towards the centre of the room. Is it some sort of man’s weird fascination or an odd coat of arms?

“If you want to find the eyes then I suggest you find the fang first.”

“Are we talking about a family or an organisation?”

“I can’t say. But they’re notorious if you know where to ask. You’ve got me, so I suppose you do.”

The girl removes her threads completely and Shiraishi immediately takes a deep breath as if it had been denied him all evening. He stumbles towards a small dresser and with shaky hands pulls out a pen and a piece of paper. After scribbling a series of numbers that Machi can barely make out, he hands the note to her but does not let go until he is finished talking. “Consider this a deal between the two of us, in exchange for my... cooperation. Do not let them fucking get me - you _will_ need me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the filler content and a late update. It would've been posted sooner if I had stopped deleting and rewriting everything. I also went back and fixed some mistakes in previous chapters and changed the titles.


	5. Requisite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is, what I like to call, a "filler episode".

Grandma looks down at a map, tracing a red line with her eyes - the line runs through the main streets of the city until it is cut with a point and continues further, drawn by a man sitting on the other side of the desk. Tiny, neatly written numbers mark the point:  **01:34** . The man brings his left hand to his earpiece to answer the person on the other end. He looks at Grandma afterwards, his right hand still moving the red pen, although slower this time. 

"She's on a phone right now." 

"What does this mean?" the woman asks, tapping at the point on the map. 

"She's stopped there for a while, but Zero is unsure if she was waiting for someone. He hasn't sensed anyone suspicious." 

"Doesn't mean no one  _ was _ there." 

"Should I collect her?" 

"No… No, there's no need as long as she is safe." 

"Should we keep track of the man then?" 

“He will kill you if you try.” Grandma smiles and leans back. She stretches her arms and cracks her shoulders before dismissing her employee by waving her hand at him. “Take a break instead. I trust Zero can handle things from here.”

The man doesn’t take the map with him when he leaves the room. It stays open on Grandma’s desk, covered in red lines and numbers and notes - most of them she’s able to understand. But her gaze is stuck to the last point her employee has drawn; the area around it is familiar though she cannot figure out why. She touches the name of the street which attracts her the most and begins to brush it with her finger, up and down, trying to visualise the nearby buildings.

Until she finally finds the place that has been unnerving her so - a cheap hotel, no different from those which usually rent out an apartment for a single night. She double checks the address and looks back at the 01:34 point; a point at which Machi was only a couple of streets away from Hisoka’s place.

But she wasn’t seeing anyone.

But she’s in a rush yet she stopped there. 

But she could go visit him instead of calling.

But she wouldn’t go see him if she figured out she’s being watched.

Grandma’s fingers outstretch and tap against the wooden desk. Her nails scratch the surface uncomfortably while her other hand rests under her chin. An unnerving sensation simmers at the bottom of her stomach: not strong enough to confine her within her phobia but enough to deprive her of the percipience. Too many thoughts run through her head, too quickly to consider any of them. 

How does she come back from this? How does she prevent everything she has worked for from falling apart?

*

"There will be no exchange. Shiraishi doesn't have the eyes." 

Machi's voice sounds surreal to him. He's spent so much time listening to her from a subjective position; now his brain cannot quite comprehend that all this time it's been wrong. Not being able to see her doesn't help him - he cannot associate her face with the voice he's hearing at all. He expects to wake up at any moment only to discover that he is dreaming again. 

He needs to see her. 

"What?" 

Did he say it out loud? 

Kurapika bites the inside of his cheek at the question. He should’ve been more composed during this conversation; he has prepared for it, or at least tried to. She must think so little of him for what he's done at Yorknew - “a fool” is not something he wishes she would add to the list of things she considers him. 

"I meant to say: I would prefer to see you."

Machi is quiet. He can hear a car passing by through the phone and a shout of what he assumes to be a random passerby. So she's in the city; he could easily take a tram and try to find her. 

However, Killua's suspicious gaze keeps him in place. The boy's mouth twists into a grimace as he observes his friend's messy state. "Lovesick," he whispers but that remark is met with a light slap on the arm from Alluka, who has been invested in the whole situation as if her own eyes were at stake. Killua hopes it's just a short-lived fascination with Kurapika's character born out of boredom or a want to be a good friend. He still hasn't figured out what to tell her if she begs him to join them on one of their adventures. 

"Machi--" 

"There is no reason for me to see you." 

"You've said you may need my help with this job."

"So?"

"Maybe now's the time." 

Machi inhales sharply and groans. A singing group of young and intoxicated people passes her and Kurapika soon hears a sound of a bell and a door getting shut. He  _ wants  _ to see her. Whatever he imagines her to look like right now - it never feels right. She still appears to be too separated from reality despite the hints that there is a world surrounding her.

She speaks up again after half a minute of stalling, “I’m still looking for the eyes. I’ve managed to contact a few people - without any luck - but I’ve got only a couple more to go. Let me finish this first.”

“Let me help.”

“No. And don’t call me again. I’ll call you.”

“Machi--”

She hangs up and Kurapika is left with an echoing signal and Killua’s impassive stare. 

*

The constantly flashing billboards outside the apartments have induced Hisoka with an insomnia he has not yet experienced. He’s heard of people who have died from exhaustion; despite how much they tried to sleep or how many drugs they’ve been injected with. He’s never thought he would become one of them - it’s an awful way to die, too uneventful. He finds solace in the fact that, whoever discovers his body, may be humoured by the irony of it. 

He stands naked by the sink, shivering from the breeze coming through the open door. Water drips down his body and his hair sticks to his skin but the towel lies abandoned on the bathroom floor. Hisoka holds a small plastic bag filled with a shining pink powder. Warily he opens the bag and dips one of his fingers in. He brings the contents to his mouth and thoroughly licks them off; he quickly pouts at the sickening sweetness the powder turns into, melting inside him yet retaining its rough texture. Trying to swallow the remains that his saliva did not break down, he keeps rubbing the packaged powder between his fingers, thinking how its vivid colour reminds him of something. He turns towards the toilet, intent on flushing the powder down but as soon as he takes a step, he loses his balance and has to grab onto the sink so as not to fall over. He looks down at his hand, hoping to find some sort of label that would help him identify the drug, but the plastic bag is gone the moment he blinks. He isn’t sure if it is the room around him that vibrates and the light suddenly flickers between different colours, or if he has gained an ability to sense things he couldn’t before. When he rubs his fingers again the texture underneath them is different - soft and smooth; it entangles itself with its hand, forcing him to open it up to see what exactly he’s now holding.

_ Hair. _

Strands of pink hair that he cannot see where they begin or where they end rest on his open palm. He uses his other hand to brush through them, leaving red traces behind. He doesn’t mind the impossible smell of blood which fills the room while he dares to bring the hair closer and closer to his face. It possesses a different kind of sweetness once he inhales it; it makes his mouth water, his tongue presses against his teeth but Hisoka isn't crazy enough to swallow the pink strands just yet, even despite his temptation. 

His cheeks are feverish, his steps uneven. A thin layer of sweat forms on his skin. He stumbles towards the bed, cursing the drug he has taken for exacerbating his insanity. 

The hair marks the path for him, it creates a support for his heavy feet. It builds up next to his bed, climbing under the white covers which he grabs by the edge and cautiously pulls them off. The pink locks twist around on the mattress, breathing, inviting. Hisoka gives in eventually, submerging himself into their embrace.

His fingers wander, greedily trying to grab as many strands as they can. His other hand travels between his legs - Hisoka’s decency no longer exists at that point. The heat has long spread deep into his flesh, he fears his skin might melt off before the cold morning comes. Yet he makes no effort to extinguish the fever; instead, he chooses to absolutely lose whatever rationality he has left. 

He can feel a tender neck under his fingers. Surprised, he lifts himself up slightly to see the figure underneath him. He pushes the pink hair off the woman’s face and is struck by the empty gaze She directs at him - he’s seen a dead man’s eyes before and the remnants of his life escaping them as he looks up at Hisoka, pleading. The eyes that stare back at him tonight are incomparable: two silent oceans, undisturbed and unmarked. They feel nothing at the sight of him, perhaps they are even unaware of his presence and he has simply forced himself into their nonexistent vision.

She fills him with excitement when he dares to press his head between Her breasts and She doesn’t attempt to push him away. He expects to hear Her quiet heartbeat; when he doesn’t, it somewhat unnerves him until he pulls Her arms around him and begins to trace Her skin with his burning lips. 

He knows that in the morning, as soon as the drug wears off She’ll be gone; he knows She isn’t even there while he indulges himself. Hisoka’s memories are but different fragments pieced together in the most abstract ways - his fantasies are just lies that he interposes between them as he sees fit. That is what the woman under him represents: an unrealised whim. 

*

Machi studies the cashier as he scans the couple of chocolate bars and a can of soda she's thrown on the counter. He's a young man, possibly even younger than her, with dark circles under his eyes and his head hanging to the side. He impatiently hands her the receipt and change, even though no one else is waiting in the line. He doesn't conceal his irritation when Machi speaks up, while he is yet to say a word to her. 

"Do you know anything about the tailor shop next door? Any way I can contact the owners?" 

"You can't."

Machi raises her brow and slows down the pace at which she picks up her items. The young man sighs, realising that she won't leave without an answer. "Car accident. Like a week ago. All dead, sorry."

"Oh." She sounds disappointed but not upset. The man doesn’t care.

He turns away from her, pretending to check the alcohol shelves. At that point Machi has already left, with one of the chocolate bars stuck in her mouth as she fidgets with her pockets, looking for the sticky note Shiraishi has given her a few hours ago. 

There's a phone number at the top, written with incredible precision but she supposes that's to be expected from a surgeon like him. There's the chance that the number is fake and it doesn't actually link to his safe house but as arrogant as Shiraishi is, she doubts he would try to deceive her when his own life is at stake.

Right under there are six names and six coordinates, all formed into a list; Machi cringes at her own handwriting, scratchy and uneven like a child's. She blames it on the many years she's spent illiterate and her usage of keyboards instead of pens - a great concern of Chrollo's, for reasons he's never disclosed. 

Out of the six names, three she chose to cross out completely - the people she has spoken to seemed not to have any idea what the "fang" could even mean and she's found no traces of illegal activities that would be of interest to her. 

She puts a question mark by the name of the people she's just found out have died, a second one on her list - it doesn't exclude them from being involved but for now she has no means to investigate them. 

Machi checks out the tailor shop once more before she moves on: it’s part of a long apartment building, spreading from one intersection to the other. The very bottom part has been repurposed into retails while the resident entry has been moved to the backstreet. As far as she’s aware, the only way into the shops is through the front. It wouldn't be impossible to break in but it would be tedious with the magnitude of the crowd. 

So Machi decides against it, typing in the address of the last place she’s wanted to visit before the night is over - another tailor shop, third on her list. She gets lucky this time, as the shop appears to be situated away from the city centre, tucked away in a maze of alleyways where she’ll be free to get in without much attention if any.

The building is old, it stands alone among few remaining family houses and even more apartment complexes tightly clustered with little greenery in between. Safe for a single sign on the front door, no one would have been able to guess some sort of shop is inside; all of the lights are off and yellowed blinds are drawn in every window. To Machi it’s perfect. 

She quickly finds a back entry. She cuts through the rusted lock with ease and the hinges instantly let go of the door. Machi grabs onto it the second she hears it squeak, not wanting to cause any noise should someone be inside, and slips through the opening that has been created.

Once in some sort of storage area, she pushes a small package with her leg to keep the door in place; the moment it’s closed, a complete darkness takes over the room. Machi’s eyes strain as she tries to navigate through walls of boxes, fabrics and random tools thrown onto the floor. She pulls out her phone and turns on the flashlight but it appears so bright in comparison to the pitch black surroundings that, panicked, Machi covers the bulb with her hand. It’s enough to illuminate the area she stands in, not much further, but there’s a small likelihood that someone, whether from inside or outside, will spot her.

She halts when an unexpected thud echoes upstairs. Through the floorboards she can hear slow, muffled footsteps just above her head. The steps move to the other side of the house and just as Machi slides towards the archway leading out of the workshop to peek around the corner, the lights on the upper floor are turned on, revealing a narrow staircase and a small shadow which flashes across the wall. 

Machi takes a deep breath and stretches out a Nen thread between her fingers.

*

Killua stares blankly at the butler who shifts closer to him with a silver tray of medical tools and drugs. She's fully obscured by a rubber suit which reeks of chemicals; he can only see the back of her black jacket whenever she turns around and her blue eyes shine under the fluorescent light.

Illumi rests quietly in a chair at the end of the room. He pushes a strand of his long hair behind his ear and turns his head to Killua. His vacant stare is as mortifying as ever - it is powerful enough to create an abyss, an immense abyss that can drag Killua in if he dares to look. Today, or tonight - he hasn’t been aware of the passing time for a while now - Killua chooses to direct his cowardly gaze anywhere but towards his brother. Illumi’s hard-pressed lips and bony fingers dangerously playing with one of his golden needles are enough to discourage him. That is the kind of courtesy Illumi has reserved just for Killua: a warning before his patience runs out. 

The butler hovers over Killua with a dampened cloth; its intense smell makes him gag and his eyes snap to a ceiling tile right above his seat. His teeth clasp as the woman begins to clean the blood off his body, stopping only to close his wounds. It hurts more than it should have - not because she’s never bothered to handle him any painkillers or because Killua is not used to such procedures. Such is the nature of this infirmary - just another torture device designed by his family so you don’t die too soon, so you don’t get too comfortable, so there is no break, no opening for you to breathe.

Killua doesn’t see the appeal of the treatment and Illumi has once admitted he doesn’t either - the psychopath probably believes this is just the right thing to do in a case of your younger brother’s insubordination; in his eyes, those ugly soulless Zoldyck eyes, not letting your younger brother’s wounds rot should be considered mercy. Killua wishes he could spit at him right now and mock him for his lunacy. No doubt the man would retaliate with another one of his sick inventions. Yet at that point Killua doesn’t mind the pain anymore, it’s something to focus on, it’s something to feel instead of the black abyss that always stares at him, as if to memorise his display of agony. Why? For entertainment? For arousal? Just for the sake of making Killua uncomfortable?

The boy is unable to blink, his strength has completely drained after being left sleepless in a gravely narrow cell with an alarm blaring over his head. When the butler tries to put him back on his feet, Killua just sways to the side and drops down onto the white tiles, opening an older cut on his temple and dirtying the floor again; how many times has he been through this exact situation? He isn’t sure, every stage of torture blurs together.

Illumi picks him up and drags him by his side as if he were an old dog. Killua’s feet perform some kind of macabre dance as the boy is unable to keep up with his brother’s pace, sliding out of his grasp because he feels too heavy to be held. 

If only he could stop, just for a second. If only he could lie down on the rough stone ground, despite the dirt and blood and piss which flow in the gutters along the walls. His eyes water from the smell but he senses no discomfort from Illumi. The boy guesses then that if you spend enough time in the dungeon you eventually get used to it all: the filth and despair.

_ Were you ever on the receiving end, brother? Or were you always the executioner? _

Illumi halts before a heavy door and grabs Killua by his hair. He lifts the boy up and forces his head to turn to a side so that their eyes may finally meet. The man’s breathing is erratic, his grip wavering and there’s a deviant hunger in his eyes. Is he able to hear his younger brother’s thoughts now? Killua doesn’t care. He just wants it to end. He just wants it to end. He just wants it to end and to decay so he can’t be locked here again.

_ For your own sake brother, I hope you know how this feels. _

At the sound of their mother’s voice coming from behind the door, Illumi is able to calm down. His hold of Killua loosens but his slender fingers don’t let go of him yet. He drags his ghostly touch down, securing his nails in the skin of Killua’s neck. He bends forward, so that their eyes end up on the same level and the boy can feel his cold breath in his face.

“Tell me one thing: was it worth it?”

“Yes,” Killua answers and before he can finish, Illumi’s nails cut into him.

“Don’t turn it into a good thing, Killua. You’re sick, you’re terribly sick… But we’re going to help you.” The man outstretches his fingers even more, wrapping them around his brother’s neck, and pushes his mouth against Killua’s ear. “And after we’re done, after you’re finally cured  _ we’ll find that little shit responsible and you will redeem yourself _ .”

Illumi straightens his back and lets go of Killua, allowing him to fall forward with only a split second to grab onto the door.

“For your own sake brother, I hope you become the executioner,” the man says and pushes the boy into the freshly prepared torture chamber.

*

Killua chokes at first. He wheezes and coughs. He stretches out his sweaty shirt trying to peel it off. His eyes move rapidly around the room and his head spins until Kurapika grabs his shoulders and helps him sit up on the couch.

Alluka hides in the corner of the room, shivering on a sofa despite having covered her legs with a thick blanket. Her hands grip the arm-rests and she leans forward like she’s ready to get up. In the end, she can’t. She’s paralysed from fear because she thinks she knows her brother and that boy who just now has screamed in his sleep as if he were being torn apart cannot be  _ him _ .

It takes some time for her to find the courage and leave the comfort of her makeshift bed as much as it costs Killua to be able to look her in the eyes despite his shame.

Unexpectedly, a dainty hand comes in between the two boys, holding a glass of water and ice which Killua steals without a thought and greedily swallows. Killua doesn’t question the alien presence in his room; instead he returns the glass without looking up and soon he hears the fridge open and the sound of water filling something up. 

“I’m sorry…” he breathes out but Kurapika shushes him immediately, moving onto the couch and letting the boy lean on him until he’s brought another glass. Just like the last time, he doesn’t look at the stranger but uses his strength to tilt his head backwards so the water falls down his throat easily.

“You have nothing to apologise for. I suspected something was wrong, I should have just woken you up sooner.”

“Shut up. It was… It was nothing.” Killua places the glass on the coffee table; he would have shattered it with his hand shaking irrepressibly, were it not for Kurapika catching it and pushing it away from the boy. Killua falls back and leans against his friend, afraid the ground may fall apart at any second and it will swallow him whole if there’s no one to hold him. Kurapika thankfully doesn’t question his unusual clinginess, and Alluka soon joins them, jumping to the last free spot on the couch. 

“Should I come back tomorrow?”

The woman who was kind enough to satiate Killua’s thirst speaks up after a moment, and the boy looks up shyly at her through his sticky bangs. He doesn’t recognise her at first. His vision is blurry and her face is barely illuminated by the dim living room light. Her black suit doesn’t fit her: it’s too big and too cheap, like something she’s picked last second without even trying it on.

Kurapika says something, Killua doesn’t hear properly what exactly, too focused on the stranger in their apartment. The woman tilts her head curiously and shifts her gaze from Kurapika, to Killua, to Alluka and back to the young boy. At that point, the fog in front of Killua’s eyes disperses and he makes note of her pink hair. 

“Where’s your other friend?” she asks.

Killua opens his mouth but can’t find the words to answer, his throat feels dry again and his tongue becomes hard. So Kurapika speaks up for him, even if Killua would have preferred to express himself differently in the presence of a Spider, “It’s just the three of us. I’ve told them about the work you’ve done for me.”

“We’re his bodyguards,” Alluka adds with an obviously fake confidence, to which Kurapika smiles apologetically and Killua remembers to have a serious conversation with his sister about not provoking deadly criminals later. 

Machi steps towards the coffee table and spreads out sheets of paper in a shape of a fan. She scans them shortly and picks just one, grasping it delicately, and hands it over to Kurapika. She then searches for something in her pockets; a chocolate bar wrapper drops onto the floor but she doesn’t seem to care. Instead, she proudly throws the sticky note at her employer as well and drops down to sit on the table.

Before she explains herself, her eyes fall onto Killua once more - her stare is empty but not in the same way Zoldyck stare would be. It is meaningless, not disturbing. And doesn't seem to care Killua looks back at her with brows furrowed and body tense. She takes no offence at his distrust: it is to be expected. What should concern the boy more, he notices after a while, are the dark shadows under her eyes and a sickly gray tint to her skin. When she finally pulls away, she stretches out her legs and sighs at the ceiling with the same stare she's given Killua.

It is then that it becomes apparent to him that Machi has not rested for a while. Kurapika wears the same face as her day after day, the same face Killua sometimes sees when he passes a mirror. 

It's somewhat comforting to realise how messed up all of them are. 

"I suppose I should offer some explanation."

Killua peeks at the paper Kurapika is holding but is soon confused by the drawing of a faceless woman in a dress. It takes him a while to read the messy notes on the sides to understand that what he's looking at is a sewing project. 

"Shiraishi has been nice enough to give me a hint. Well, two hints," Machi says, lifting her index finger. "The people who have your eyes represent each other with a  _ fang _ . Not as a name but rather a symbol." She adds the middle finger, "there was also an implication that I'll find them the same way I've found him. I… You did so by coming across people he's commissioned. And since no one in this city cares about legality of their work, finding the right suspects wasn't that hard either. There were some issues later though." Machi points at the dress design before dropping her hand and twists her mouth, disappointed by her own words that were about to come out. "These designs are the only clue I've got after interviewing the suspects besides something I've noticed myself; those people probably use Nen contracts with everyone who works for them. So strict that the two people who managed to give me some information had to do it in such a roundabout way they might as well be fucking with me and I wouldn't know."

"Is there really no way to make sure they're telling the truth?" Kurapika asks, at which Machi looks at him and smiles shortly until her face returns to its default state. "Stupid question,  _ Chain Bastard _ . If they try to be more specific the Nen contract kills them." 

Kurapika stills in his seat. His hands grip the paper sheet harder, crumpling it in the process. A drop of sweat runs behind his ear and down his clenched jaw. Red speckles begin to flicker in his eyes. Perhaps, just as Killua, Kurapika has noticed Machi’s discomfort as she gets up and walks away at the sight of the haunting colour; he lowers his head and rubs his face, mumbling a barely audible “sorry”.

"The tigers embroidered on the suits possibly represent nothing but a lower hierarchy: mercenaries or bodyguards," Machi says, as if she haven't just been affected by the Kurta eyes. "The person you're looking for, the person who has your eyes, must be the woman in the dress. Look at the tiger, it's different." 

The boys examine the design once more and only then do they notice the sharp claws stretching out across the chest and a wild expression on the animal's face: eyes red like the blood dripping down its golden fangs and down the white material. The beast appears alive; unlike the other tigers which are relaxed and waiting at the back of the black suits. 

"There was a carpenter shop I couldn't get into but I managed to peek inside - the same design of a sleeping tiger was engraved at the side of…  _ something _ . But I couldn't reach the owners; I just know they were commissioned by other mafia groups."

"How do you know that?" questions Kurapika but Machi just shrugs, stuffing her hands into the pockets. 

"I said I wanted some work done. Maybe not fully legal." 

"I see…"

Machi stands still for a few seconds before deciding to head towards the exit without a word. Kurapika jumps up and attempts to grab her hand but she reacts sooner than he gets a chance to get anywhere close. She steps back and pulls on a string of Nen which flickers in the evening light, revealing a series of webs spun across the room.

Kurapika raises his arms in submission, giving her an apologetic look but Machi remains focused and ready to strike if he so much as flinches.

"Are you done with this job?" 

"Are you paying me to help you retrieve the eyes?" 

"Yes." 

"And right now we don't even know where they are." 

Kurapika opens his mouth briefly, lets out a sigh and then drops back next to Killua; his shoulders heavy and his skin deprived of colour. 

Killua can only assume that Kurapika had expected to have the Kurta eyes back by tonight. That's how Machi had made it sound when she first offered to see him; only to show up in the middle of the night and empty-handed, with more issues than clues. 

"I know a few people I could ask for help," Kurapika says, but Machi quickly shakes her head and dismisses his idea. 

"Unlike me, you're not anonymous. You'll end up asking the wrong person and draw the  _ fang's _ attention to yourself."

"Then they come after me and I use that to hunt down their leader." 

"What about the kids?" 

Kurapika appears to be confused until Alluka shifts on the other side and the older boy turns to look at the Zoldyck siblings. He observes them as if he hasn't seen them for a while, as if they haven't become a part of his life. Such a reaction shouldn't surprise Killua; when you've always been alone, without the need to care about someone else's well-being, how do you suddenly switch to make another person your priority? 

"We can take care of ourselves. And Kurapika," Killua answers, straightening his back and raising his chin. Machi is neither impressed nor convinced by his display of support but says nothing. She loosens her threads and soon they dissolve, leaving behind a faint trace of aura.


End file.
